Homeward Bound: An Alternate Version of ITHOTG
by Saphron
Summary: Ch. 51 UP! Flashback to Alanna’s squire years. What if, instead of winning the Tusaine war, Alanna and Jon had ended up lost in enemy territory? Together the two must go on a long and arduous journey to find their way home...
1. Chapter 1 The Rescue

**Homeward Bound: An Alternate Version of _In the Hands of the Goddess_**

By Saphron

_Summary_: Flashback to Alanna's squire years during the Tusaine War. What if, instead of winning the war, Alanna and Jon had ended up lost in enemy territory? Together the two must go on a long and arduous journey to find their way home, but will the two kill each other first? Or will they accept the budding feelings growing between them? Or will they even make it back in time to save their homeland from certain doom? Read and find out ;)

_Genre_: Action/adventure, romance

_Rating_: PG (for now)

_Disclaimer:_ Don't sue, I'm a poor starving college student.

_Note_: Don't be confused, y'all have read the books front to back twelve times by now, so you know the scene. Alanna is captured by the Tusaine and lock in a prison cell, but Jon rounds up a group to come rescue her.

_A/N_: I'm baaaaack…after a good four year hiatus, it seems I've stumbled back to Tortall for my 19th Tamora Pierce fanfic! Huzzah! Did you miss me? Lol I look forward to working on this…I'm an English major, but as always, please feel free to offer advice/constructive criticism (undying praise is also accepted…) Reviews just inspire me to procrastinate on studying for midterms and write instead ;)

_Ch.1 The Rescue_

"The keys to my friend's chains please," Jonathon asked coolly, pointing his sword at Count Jemis.

Jem grimaced bitterly and did as he was told, tossing the keys to Alanna and shuffling out the door with his brothers, Jonathon's sword pointed at his back. Alanna shed her chains and trotted out the door after Jon, resisting the urge to engulf him in a huge hug. Rahoul shot her a shy grin as he handed her Lightening and Gary slapped her on the back as she joined them, the rest of her friends all smiling at her return. The entire company headed swiftly towards the river with Jonathon leading and shouting to the guardsmen that the Tortallian knight force had captured King Ain's precious brothers.

Alanna was so overcome with gratitude from being rescued that she didn't even see the arrow hurl through the air at her prince until it was lodged deeply into his right shoulder. Although the arrow had missed its mark—his heart—it was enough for Jon to drop his blade in pain. Quicker than Alanna could murmer 'Mithros,' Jeb and his brothers had raised the alarm, shouting into the dark silent night. Half-naked Tusaine soldiers began pouring out of bunkers and tents, angrily waving sharp swords at the intruders who had penetrated their home base so easily.

"RUN!" Jon screamed, pushing his friends forwards, "towards the river, go, go!"

The Tortallians bolted in a mad stampede. Gary somehow found himself at the head of the pack and began directing his comrades across the Drell River, where each man swum for all he was worth. When arrows began raining down on their heads, Gary ordered everyone to split up. The strategy worked, most of the Tortallians reached the river's edge at various points along the shore and were able to quickly hide themselves in the arboreal foliage.

Except for Prince Jonathon, whose wounded arm made it impossible for him to tread water in a shallow pool, let alone swim across a violent river currant.

"Just. Leave me. Here," Jonathon grunted, tightening his lips in pain.

"Not a chance!" Alanna snorted, "after you charged into enemy territory to rescue me, you think I'm gonna abandon you _now_? Besides, if the Tusaine capture you we're dead, your father will do anything to get you back, including giving up half of Tortall."

"Good point," Jon grinned, before wincing in pain. "But I can't swim with this shoulder…"

Alanna bit her lip and tried to think. The Tusaine were closing in on them, it wouldn't be long before they were surrounded. Jeb had run back towards camp, preferring safety over revenge, Duke Hilam had disappeared in the chaos, and most of the foot soldiers had chased after the swimming Tortallians. Jon and Alanna had ended up somewhat to the left of the group, near the river but hidden behind a large patch of boulders. However, it wouldn't be long before their hiding place would be discovered.

"Let's just get out of here for now, we'll follow the river away from the Tusaine and try and ford it where it's not as swift, ok?" Alanna said.

Jon nodded, preferring nonverbal communication to otherwise painful speaking. Only his upper body was injured, and he was able to move at a quick jog behind Alanna, who would brush tree limbs and branches out of their path to aide him. The sounds of battle quieted away as they forged deeper into the Tusaine woods, always keeping the river in sight to their right. Jon was slowing down, but Alanna didn't want to stop while they were still too close to the Tusaine camp. With any luck, they'd assume "Squire Alan" and Prince Jonathan had made it across the river with everyone else and wouldn't chase them.

"Alanna, I…" Jon never finished his sentence. When Alanna turned around, he was completely unconscious.

_A/N_: Cliffhanger, yes? More to come very, very soon. This is going be a looong aventure story guys ;)


	2. Chapter 2 The Hollow

**Homeward Bound**

By Saphron

_Summary_: Flashback to Alanna's squire years during the Tusaine War. What if, instead of winning the war, Alanna and Jon had ended up lost in enemy territory? Together the two must go on a long and arduous journey to find their way home, but will the two kill each other first? Or will they accept the budding feelings growing between them? Or will they even make it back in time to save their homeland from certain doom? Read and find out ;)

_Genre_: Action/adventure, romance

_Rating_: PG (for now)

_Disclaimer_: My newspaper job pays $8 a story. It takes 5-10 hours to write one. You do the math and figure out how much money you'll make if you try and sue…

Ch.2 -- The Hollow

_Somewhere along the Drell River, 2:27 am:_

Alanna stared miserably at her fallen prince. She cursed herself for not stopping sooner to heal Jon's wound, but she was just so preoccupied with fleeing from the Tusaine camp, and Jon didn't complain one bit…

She managed to drag him beneath the hollow of a large sunken out tree that had fallen years ago. The earth was soft and spongy, and all she wanted to do was curl up in the blanket of moss and go to sleep after such a trying day. But she had a prince to save, so she quickly set about extricating the arrow shaft from his shoulder. It was a deep cut; she had to use every ounce of her gift to heal it.

When she finished, his shoulder was whole again, although he would carry a small white scar for the rest of his life. He lay breathing quietly but deeply, and Alanna knew he would be all right. Perhaps a bit groggy when he woke up, but otherwise able to use his sword arm again. She hoped.

The darkness had sunken even more completely, settling around them like a midnight black cloak. Alanna snuggled up next to her prince and yawned. Tomorrow they would make their way back across the river to the Tortallian camp, where Jon could see a real healer and she could get a good meal. Their friends were probably worried, but soon everyone would be reunited. Thinking of Gary and Rahoul and the others made her queasy—what if they hadn't made it back all right? In all the chaos, with the darkness and the shouting, Alanna hadn't had time to watch everyone go. All she was concerned about was hers and Jon's immediate safety.

Well, there's no point in worrying ao but it now, Alanna thought to herself. What's done is done. And with that final thought she curled into a ball and fell fast asleep.

_At the Tortallian camp, 2:45 am:_

"So there's no sign of them?" Rahoul asked worriedly.

"None, and we've searched up and down the river," Gary replied, absent-mindedly stroking Faithful, who looked just as concerned as the two knights. "I don't understand what happened, they were right behind me and then…they weren't."

"Do you think the Tusaine have them?"

"If they did they wouldn't waste any time making sure we knew that. Surely they'd send a ransom for the Prince! King Ain knows Tortall will do anything to get her only heir back."

"Do you think they erm, drowned then?"

"It's possible, but I just don't see it happening. Jon's a strong swimmer, you know that. We all used to swim together in the lake as pages, remember those crazy water fights? As for Alan, well, come to think of it, I've never seen him swim…maybe he doesn't know how…"

"But…"

"I know. He can't be dead, he just can't. Hopefully, wherever the two of them are, they're together…"

_At the Tusaine Camp, 3:14 pm:_

"What do you _mean_ they all got away?" Duke Hilam screeched. "You didn't even capture a lowly foot-soldier?"

"No m'lord. It was so dark m'lord. One of our men took down one of there's, but he's no good dead. All the knights escaped, they swam like otters across that river. Most of our men were asleep when they ran for it, the couple o' guards on duty could only do so much m'lord."

"Never mind," Duke Hilam fumed, "what about the prince? My brother said he never made it across."

"Meaning no disrespect m'lord but…Count Jemis is probably, um, mistaken. He just found a trail of blood and thinks it belong to the prince, but couldn't it belong to anybody? This is a war zone, there's lood everywhere. Er, in my opinion, m'lord."

"Yes well…we might as follow it and see where it leads. Send me the tracker. Danke will find them, if they're still here."

_Somewhere along the Drell River, 6:38 am:_

"Ay lads, what have we here, eh?" Said a brusque voice, squinting his eyes at an oddly shaped tree on the ground.

"Eh, let's find out," said his companion, who poked his toe inside the hollow. "It's squishy! Whatever it is,"

Alanna groaned and stirred. She had been enjoying a nice dream about riding Midnight through the countryside when a sharp stick poked her in the side. She blindly reached out to move it aside, only to discover it was attached to a rather strange log…

"Mithros! It's a lad!"

"A lad?"

"Ay, and the boy has a friend too."

Alanna yelped and tried to jump to her feet, but it was impossible while she was still tangled up with Jonathon and crouched within the hollow.

"And lookee 'ere, the child has purple eyes."

"I'm no child, I'm sixteen," Alanna snapped. Which, in retrospect, was perhaps not the best idea in the world.

The man who had poked her roared with laughter. "Quite the mouth on ye laddie, ye best be careful to keep it one piece." The hard smile he gave was not very reassuring. "I can tell by yere accents yer not Tusaine. So what are ye then? Tyran?"

Alanna thought quickly, this man didn't recognize them! Not even Jonathon, who had the undeniable features of nobility. Although perhaps it wasn't that odd, the two of them were smudged in dirt (and in Jon's case, blood,) their plain, dark clothes were torn and shredded, and they wore no obvious sign of soldier-hood, Jon having lost his sword when he was hit. Except for Lightening! Alanna subtlety tried to push her sword deep within the tree hollow under a pile of moldy leaves, but she had no luck. The man spotted her.

"What's that? Why, it's a sword! What's a wee lad like you doing carrying around a great big ol' sword?"

Alanna shrugged and tried to look sheepish. "I found it and thought it was pretty, so I took it with me."

"Stole is more like it," the man snorted, "but no matter, it's mine now."

The fire in Alanna's eyes burned, but what could she do? This man was flanked by a good twenty others, all mounted and bearing weapons. They would be lucky to escape alive, let alone with all their property intact. Fortunately, the men didn't look like soldiers. They were far too shabbily dressed and unkempt, all though each bore a hardened look in their eye, like the work they did was rather unpleasant. Alanna wondered who they were and what they were doing here so close to a war zone.

Just then Jon awoke, yawning widely. "Where are we?" he asked sleepily.

"With us," grunted the man.

"And who are you?" Jon asked, peeringcuriously at the circle of men.

"Highly successful slave traders," the man grinned. "Zoley, tie 'em up and put 'em with the others. We head for Carthak today."

_A/N:_ Are you intrigued yet? I am! Haha, j/k. Looks like our two favorite kids are in quite the pickle eh? Shipped off to Carthak as slaves? Oh no! Sacre bleu! Hopefully nothing TOO bad will happen to them...


	3. Chapter 3 Through the Tusaine Woods

**Homeward Bound: An Alternate Version of _In the Hands of the Goddess_**

By Saphron

_Summary_: Flashback to Alanna's squire years during the Tusaine War. What if, instead of winning the war, Alanna and Jon had ended up lost in enemy territory? Together the two must go on a long and arduous journey to find their way home, but will the two kill each other first? Or will they accept the budding feelings growing between them? Or will they even make it back in time to save their homeland from certain doom? Read and find out ;)

_Genre_: Action/adventure, romance

_Rating_: PG (for now)

_Disclaimer_: I'm living off of tuna cans, stolen apples, and free donuts at Squelch meetings. Please don't sue, I don't own anything of Tammy's. sigh

_A/N:_ Wow! You guys are fantastic reviewers! You make me want towrite, I 3 you all. (And yes, sorry about the Jeb/Jem typo, and any other typos as well. I know they're inexcusable, it's just, I write these chapters at 3:34 am (seriously, college kids don't sleep) sooo…I'll try harder though, promise)

Ch.3 Through the Tusaine Woods

_Somewhere along the Drell River:_

The tracker sniffed the blood along the river. It was still wet. _Good_, he thought, _wet blood is always easier to trace_. He followed the trail along the river, peering eagerly through the trees. In all honesty he didn't expect to find anything. He could tell the blood belonged to a human from the scent of it, but in a war zone there was blood everywhere, it probably belonged to an injured Tusaine soldier. But orders were orders, and follow the trail he would.

He had refused back up, preferring to travel alone. Foot soldiers annoyed him, they only slowed him down as he was trying to work his complex wild magic and tracking skills, and clattered about noisily like great hulking elephants. No, trackers were used to working alone.

The tracker halted; the trail had lead to a dead end. It was odd that it stopped at an old fallen tree, he was expecting it to lead into the river, or to a dead soldier's body. But no, there was nothing but a small pool of semi-dry blood lingering within the tree hallow. There was also the unmistakable print of bodies who had pressed against the earth and left their mark. It looked like something large had slept there the night before—human sized large. Perhaps the blood did indeed belong to the Prince after all!

The tracker got out three small crystals and a pouch of eucalyptus leaves. He set the crystals in the pool of blood and sprinkled some leaves on top, chanting under his breath. Slowly a dark, almost black, blue and violet stream of light emerged from the blood and began winding its ay through the forest trees like a wisp of smoke. The tracker smiled mercilessly and scooped up his crystals, hot on the trail of the strange foggy path.

_At the Tyran/Tusaine Border:_

"What business have you men here?"

"We are naught but simple traders, come to spend our coppers in your lovely country," said the slave trader leader smoothly.

"What's in the wagon?"

"Oh, a few pots and pans, some trunks for clothing, the usual."

"Mind if I take a look?"

"Not at all, be my guest." The slave trader pulled back the blanket of the wagon, revealing a pile of clothes, some jugs of ale, and, like he said, a few pots and pans.

"Very well then, you may pass."

The slave trader leader nodded and headed past the guard, laughing to himself. How easy it was to fool security around here! Of course slave trading was illegal in the northern states, but that didn't stop it from happening. The underground slave trade was comfortably large; some would sell children they couldn't afford to keep, others sold daughters into prostitution for a hefty sum, and still others were refugees displaced during times of war. Overall, the underground slave trade was quite the profitable business venture for a young entrepreneur.

The slave trade leader assumed the lad and his friend were such refugees, given the state of their clothing. He guessed they had been caught on the wrong side of the river when the war broke out, and were trying to make it to safety when he and his men appeared. Lucky for them! They now had two new additions to their collection of five; two unlucky girls headed for the brothel, one small child destined for a dreary life in the kitchens, and two big, strong men who would fetch quite the sum at the auctions as farmhands or fief workers.

All seven hostages had been tied up and gagged, and buried beneath a pile of blankets and miscellaneous objects in an uncomfortable wooden wagon that jolted with every bump in the road. Alanna had more bruises from the wagon ride through Tusaine than she did from all her battles in the war!

It took them several days to reach the Carthakian port, thanks to an unexpected rain storm. The slave traders stuck to the woods when possible, where they could hide their black market goods. It meant that everyone spent quite a bit of time wet, which just made the traders grouchy and mean.

Alanna and Jon were forced to do a variety of menial tasks, like fetch water from the river and shine the trader's boots, although Jonathan had trouble lifting anything heavy and Alanna was still exhausted from using so much of her gift to heal Jon. The slave traders were frustrated with their weakness and often beat them for it, but Alanna felt far sorrier for the two girls with them, Mary and Pippy, who often occupied the trader's beds at night. Never was she more thankful for her disguise!

"A little higher," Jonathan winced as he lay on his back as comfortably as he could with his hands and feet tied up. Alanna was attempting to dress his wounds with torn rags from her shirt, but it was hard with her hands tied as well. The two of them sported quite a few whip lashes, although not enough to seriously injury them to the point where they wouldn't be sellable.

"How's that?" She asked, tying her final knot.

"Better," Jon grimaced. "How are you doing?"

"Oh, just peachy. I'm bruised, dirty, and about to be sold into slavery, I couldn't be better."

"I told you, you just should have left me there," Jon said, only half-joking.

"And who told you to come rescue me in the first place?" She snorted in reply.

"Well, who told you to go and get captured by the Tusaine!"

"Well who told you to go to war!"

"That doesn't even make sense, my father makes such diplomatic decisions, not me."

"Shh, keep your voice down," Alanna murmured, "they still have no idea who we really are, they just think we're some random boys displaced during the war. If they find out our lives are forfeit."

"Actually, they'll probably just be ransomed," Jon grumbled, "but I think that'd just be worse. My dad would end up giving away half of Tortall."

"I know. We'll just have to see this through; let's pray to Mithros we'll make it back home again soon…"

A/N: More to come. A chapter a day is my goal :)


	4. Chapter 4 A Secret Revealed

**Homeward Bound: An Alternate Version of _In the Hands of the Goddess_**

By Saphron

_Summary_: Flashback to Alanna's squire years during the Tusaine War. What if, instead of winning the war, Alanna and Jon had ended up lost in enemy territory? Together the two must go on a long and arduous journey to find their way home, but will the two kill each other first? Or will they accept the budding feelings growing between them? Or will they even make it back in time to save their homeland from certain doom? Read and find out ;)

_Genre_: Action/adventure, romance

_Rating_: PG-13 (warning: some references to adult content)

_Disclaimer_: I only own a few slave traders and their captures, but Alanna and Jon? Definitely not mine. Yet. :P

A/N: Did you notice the increase in rating? I'm telling you, as Jon and Alanna wander into deeper and deeper trouble, things will start to get more intense…not TOO bad though. Let's hope…

Ch. 4 – A Secret Revealed

_At the Tortallian camp_:

"There's still no word of my cousin or his squire?" Duke Roger of Conte asked worriedly.

"No m'lord, and we've searched high an' low. If the Tusaine got 'em, they sure as hell aren't making it known."

"Roald is furious, I was supposed to have kept an eye on my young cousin…but I have failed him." He feigned closing his eyes morosely, "This is all my fault, I should have kept him out of battle completely, I'm a terrible uncle…"

"It's not yer fault m'lord! Ye can't blame yerself, the Prince was, er, well, it wasn't exactly…safe…for the Prince to march into enemy territory to try 'n rescue his squire like that. There were Tusaine everywhere, it was foolhardy, if ye don't mind m'saying m'lord."

"But all the other knights escaped unscathed! Why my cousin, why the prince?"

"I dunno m'lord. But don't give up yet, mayhap he's still alive."

"Let us pray," Roger nodded solemnly.

Once the messenger left Roger smiled to himself. It appeared his young cousin had gone and gotten himself killed without even needing Roger's help! Or at least, Roger hoped he had. It would make seizing the throne that much easier. But he didn't want to chance Jonathan mysteriously returning one day to claim what was his; no, he wanted to make sure the prince was good and dead before he made his move.

Roger set about summoning the most powerful locater spell he knew. He was one of the world's most powerful mages, surely if he couldn't find the prince, who could?

_Along the river just outside the port city in Tyra:_

"On your feet slaves," one of the slave traders barked. "Today's the day you go to Carthak! Let's get you cleaned up."

A trader grabbed Alanna by the scruff of her neck and shoved her towards the river. She saw Jon and the others being roughly manhandled as well, and braced herself for a cold dip in the water.

"All right, off with yere clothes then."

"What?" Alanna gasped, visibly paling.

"Aye, ye heard me, off with 'em. You're not goin' to get very clean otherwise."

"I, I'll just bathe with them on, it will be fine, you'll see," Alanna tried to argue, but the trader paid no heed. He roughly began yanking off her shirt and Alanna could do little to stop him, squirm as she did.

Jonathon tried to help, but the trader who was guarding him leveled a blade at his throat and sneered, "Don't give me any trouble like yer friend, I don't know why he's so shy. Perhaps 'cuz he's so scrawny!"

Alanna was stripped to her undergarments in moments. She vainly tried to cover herself, but it was bright as day that something was...odd. Even though she was skinny, her legs and butt were still smooth and curved like a woman's. When the trader yanked the laces of her corset open, it was extremely obvious she was no male.

"By Mirthros, you're not a lad at all! Yer a…_girl_."

_Brilliant observation_, Alanna wanted to retort, but bit her tongue instead. She noticed Jon's mouth was agape as he stared wide-eyed at the scene in front of him, although the other slaves didn't seem too taken aback, perhaps because they were too exhausted and hungry to care. Alanna turned a deep shade of red, and looked down at her toes. How was it she always ended up naked in front of her prince in the most dangerous and compromising of situations? First the Black City, now this! It was humiliating, and on top of things, the trader's glancing eyes read something she was not used to: lust.

"Aye, a girl then. A fairly pretty one too, now that I see it."

"Wait 'till our leader hears about this! Instead of one scrawny kitchen boy we get another lass for the bedchambers, aye! Think of how much extra money we'll make…" chirped a trader bathing one of the captured men.

"Aye, and I want to try this one out before we sell her!" grinned his friend. "Break her in a little, if you know what I mean…"

Jon's look of horror deepened, if that was even possible, as Alanna's trader snorted loudly, "ach! If anyone were to bed this one first it'd be me, seeing as how I discovered her little secret."

"That's not fair! It's just your luck you got assigned to bathe her!"

"Luck shmuck, she's mine!"

"Stop bickering you two," grunted a third trader, "we have to get back to camp. Just clean her off and let's go."

Freshly soaked from her dip in the river—which, she was humiliated to say, involved a fair amount of groping by her capturer—Alanna was presented to the slave trader leader, who stared in disbelief at her chest.

"A girl," he whistled softly, "another girl! Excellent."

Alanna's only saving grace of the day was that they were due to sail that afternoon, and the traders had little enough time to pack up their stuff and organize their captures for travel, let alone attempt to bed her.

The slave leader stroked her cheek as he handed her off to the sailors aboard the ship, "aye lass, I woulda liked to give you a romp in the sack, if it weren't for these damn high tides. Ah, but you'll be experiencing plenty 'o bedding time in Carthak I dare say," he chuckled.

Alanna bit his finger, hard, as it wandered onto her lips. He yelped and jumped back, slapping her across the face.

"Ye damn whore!" He cursed, stalking off to get the final bag of gold from the slave trade sailors. The last she ever saw of him, he was handing the ship's captain Lightening. Traders had little use for a nobleman's sword, except to sell it for a quick profit. Alanna hated to see her beautiful sword in the hands of the greedy ship captain, but she was glad to see it follow within her sight. If the slave traders rode off with it she'd surely never see it again!

As the ship sailed away from the Tyran shore, she wondered if she'd ever see her beloved Tortall again as well.

Saphron

A/N: Keep those reviews a-coming please; they feed my fragile writer's ego. Unlike the dining commons, which believe spam and concentrated fruit syrup qualify as adequate nutrition. Hugs and thanks kids


	5. Chapter 5 To Sea

**Homeward Bound: An Alternate Version of _In the Hands of the Goddess_**

By Saphron

_Summary_: Flashback to Alanna's squire years during the Tusaine War. What if, instead of winning the war, Alanna and Jon had ended up lost in enemy territory? Together the two must go on a long and arduous journey to find their way home, but will the two kill each other first? Or will they accept the budding feelings growing between them? Or will they even make it back in time to save their homeland from certain doom? Read and find out ;)

_Genre_: Action/adventure, romance

_Rating_: PG-13 (warning: some references to adult content)

_Disclaimer_: $300 textbook fees a broke Saphron. No sueing please!

_A/N:_ Oh loyal reviewers, you keep me so motivated to post! Sorry this was so late in the day, but technically, I made it by midnight soo...it still counts as a post per day lol. Sunkissed Guacomole, I went and read some of your stuff and liked it a lot :) (a r&r for a r&r, I always say.) Seriously, all you reviewers rock my socks off!

Ch.5 – To Sea

_At the Tyran port_:

The tracker narrowed his eyes and peered into the blue distance. He was confused; the smoke trail had led him through the entire Tusaine countryside and eventually into Tyra. He had no trouble slipping past the border guards, and was now standing at the southernmost tip of the country on the dock of its biggest port. But how could this be? If the blood did indeed belong to the Prince, why would he travel south to Tyra? Why not cross the border and head home to Tortall? Perhaps he was lost…except surely he could figure out whether he was in the right country or not. If anything, the fact there was a giant ocean straight ahead was a dead giveaway.

Perhaps the blood belonged to someone else, some cowardly Tusaine soldier who decided to desert the army and sail south for the warmer countries.

Or perhaps there was another explanation, one he just didn't know yet. He would find out, he wouldn't give up now, not when he was so close.

"Captain! How much for passage on your ship?"

"5 gold nobles, an' that includes food and a bunk."

"I'll take it."

_Somewhere out to sea_:

Alanna and Jon were kept below the ship's hull with thirty some other slaves, mostly, Alanna was sad to see, women and children. With their husbands dead in battle, widows often found themselves easy targets in times of war for slave traders raiding the countryside.

The journey to Carthak took weeks; Alanna lost count of the time after a few days. Her biggest problem, other than inadequate nutrition from hard tack and gruel, was Jonathan. He hadn't recovered as easily from the slaver trader's mistreatment as she had hoped, given how severely injured he was before they were captured.

"I still can't believe we're sailing for Carthak right now," she sighed, resting her head against the ship's hull.

"I know, it's unbelievable. A month ago we were attending court balls and dancing with gentile ladies. Now we're treated like rats and about to be sold into slavery." Jon looked wistful at the thought of his homeland. Alanna knew the Crown Prince must be missing Tortall even more than she was.

"At least we're alive, that's more than we can say for a lot of men fighting the war back at home."

"If it's even a war still going on."

"Mmhmm," Alanna murmured, before the two fell quiet.

"How's your shoulder?" She asked him, breaking the comfortable silence.

"Fine. A little stiff, but otherwise fine. How's…um, being a girl?"

"Um, fine," Alanna blushed.

"Luckily the sailors are too busy too notice I think," Jon mused, "They probably don't bed the girls here because there's just no time, not to mention space. I mean, they all share a bunk together upstairs, and there are thirty some slaves down here. Where could they, you know, find some space to…you know."

"Um, yeah, right," Alanna blushed even harder. She did not want to be talking about sex with Jon! Even in the abstract, it was far too embarrassing. She couldn't even imagine what sex was like voluntarily when you were in love, let alone being forced into the act. She knew Jon was quite knowledgeable about the subject, but that was one lesson she didn't care for quite yet thank you!

The pair became quiet again, listening to the gentle rocking of the ship, each thinking their own thoughts. The journey continued, each day as uneventful as the last. They were given food rations at dawn and at dusk, and allowed to go on deck to stretch their legs once every three days, but for the most part they spent the voyage beneath the deck holed up with the other prisoners, who told stories to pass the time.

They learned about the other slaves' homes and families, their dismal capture by various traders and fears about the future. A young boy passed away while they were midway through their journey, although Alanna tried to heal him once she realized he was sick. But she could only heal a few cuts and bruises, not fix the root of this boy's problem—hunger.

"Ay, there was nothing you could do, even the gift can't replace food," a grizzled old slave with a salt and pepper beard grumbled sadly, patting Alanna on the shoulder while she sniffed. She hadn't known the boy that personally, but she was still sad to see him slip away aboard the cursed ship. "And I'd advise ye not to mention ye have the gift to anyone—it will make you twice as valuable as a slave, and who knows where ye could end up? Best to be working in the kitchens peeling potatoes than as a slave mage for some nobleman who cuts off your tongue to keep your silence."

Alanna took these words of advice to heart and became very careful never to reveal the extent of her powers. She warned Jon of the same, and both agreed to downplay their magic, along with their nobility. They practiced speaking like commoners, adopting slang words and accents, and walking with leisurely couched gaits, not bold upright postures.

"Ye scurvy dog!" Jon growled playfully at Alanna.

"Ach," Alanna replied, spitting out of the corner of her mouth, "my blood be as common as a dogs! Aye!"

"Um, why are you guys talking like drunken pirates?" Pippy asked curiously.

Jon laughed, "er, we're just...playing a game. Right. Aye aye, swab th' decks mates! Or I'll throw ye to th' sharks!"

Alanna shot him an accusing glance.

"What?" he blinked innocently.

Sometimes he reminded her of a small child, not a full grown knight.

While Alanna was chatting with Mary and Pippy about their favorite childhood games, the ship gave a sudden dramatic lurch. Again, it rocked forwards violently, setting the girls flying across the hull. Alanna grabbed onto a trunk and clung to it, while others did the same. It appeared they had wandered into a violent storm.

Alanna spotted Jon across the hull, who made his way to her despite his hands and feet being tied. The two crouched in a corner of the ship and clung to whatever they could to keep them grounded as the ship rocked back and forth. A large box of biscuits would have crashed on Alanna's head if Jon hadn't scooped her out of the way and sheltered her with his arms. She buried her face into the nook of his shoulder, fighting the urge to be sick. She had never liked boats!

As it was, by the time the storm ceased she had lost what little she had eaten three times over. Jon stroked her hair as she groaned, and murmured comforting things.

"Shh, don't worry, soon it will be over," he whispered, nuzzling her neck softly, "just hold on a little longer."

Alanna was about to reply, but her lunch got in the way. She barely made it into a bucket she grabbed as it slid across the floor.

Jon was right and the storm did eventually die down, with no one hurt or injured except for a few bruises, and in Alanna's case, an intense bout of sea sickness. Again, she found herself extremely embarrassed, although she took comfort in the fact that she wasn't the only one to react so violently.

Remembering Jon's gentle touch made her shudder. Never was she gladder that the two of them were in this mess together.

After six weeks at sea, the ship finally docked in the warm waters of a Carthakian port. The slaves were marched off the gangplank to shore, where they all stood blinking in the bright sunlight.

"Welcome to Carthak," the sea captain grinned, "and now, to the auction bay!"

Saphron

A/N: I don't have the books with me (gasp! I know! A crime!) They're at home in LA :( I'm in my dorm in Berkeley...so alas, if I get a detail wrong here or there, I apologize profoundly!


	6. Chapter 6 Sold!

**Homeward Bound: An Alternate Version of _In the Hands of the Goddess_**

By Saphron

_Summary_: Flashback to Alanna's squire years during the Tusaine War. What if, instead of winning the war, Alanna and Jon had ended up lost in enemy territory? Together the two must go on a long and arduous journey to find their way home, but will the two kill each other first? Or will they accept the budding feelings growing between them? Or will they even make it back in time to save their homeland from certain doom? Read and find out ;)

_Genre_: Action/adventure, romance

_Rating_: PG-13 (warning: some references to adult content)

_Disclaimer_: Tammy has already made it explicitly clear that she doesn't mind her fans writing fanfiction, and no one is obviously trying to claim they ARE Tamora Pierce, and I don't think anyone really cares or even WANTS to sue…so I don't know why we all bother with this disclaimer crap. I think someone (the "cool kid" in town) just put it up one day and everyone started copying (lemming syndrome, anyone?) But oh well, whatever, I'll be a lemur: not mine, don't sue. (I use to write really clever disclaimers for A Rainy Day Trip, my alternate version of _Squire_, I became known for it lol. I guess I'm continuing the tradition!)

That reminds me, if you like this, check out some of my other stuff. :)

**A/N: IMPORTANT—**I need your help guys, as I said in my last A/N, I don't have my books with me (tragic!) Does anyone know how Orzone (sp? Wait, I mean the guy who eventually turned into a stormwing, y'know, whoever would be ruling the throne while Alanna was a squire…sorry I haven't read Wild Magic in awhile I seriously need to) came to power? Like, did he succeed his (father?) or throw a revolution or what? Thanks for whoever lets me know! And erm, I was just, er, curious…right. Read on, read on.

Ch.6 – Sold!

_Tortall, Corus, the Dancing Dove_:

"Young Squire Alan is…missing, you say?" The King of Thieves asked quietly, although the fire raging in his eyes was in sharp contrast with the eerily calm voice he was speaking with.

He clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white as the messenger replied, "Yes yer highness, him and th' Crown Prince, no one knows what happened to them. The Tusaine don't 'ave 'em, and we don' 'ave 'em, and no one can find no bodies or no boots, and it's just a plain damn mystery. It's like they got swept right off the face 'o the earth. All the King's men are searching for any sign 'o them, they got mages in from all over the country, an' Duke Roger has even made it his close personal task."

"Duke Roger?" George glanced up sharply.

"Ay, they say th' man don' sleep nor eat no more, he just scrys and scrys away."

"Thank you for notifying me Stephan. You may return to the palace, I have some…work to do."

When the hostler had gone George pounded his fists on the table and swore every dark curse he had ever learned, which, considering his career choice, was quite a few. He knew he shouldn't have let Alanna ride off into battle like that! How could he have let a fifteen year old girl go fight grizzled blooded veteran soldiers? Mithros, she could be anywhere! She could be hurt, or worse…

Yet if there was one thing George knew about Alanna, it was that she was a fighter, through and through. She wouldn't be taken down that easily, not his lass. They'd have to bring her dead body back to him in a casket before he'd believe she wasn't still alive. It was just a matter of finding her. And if the King of Thieves couldn't do it, who could?

_Carthak:_

The slaves were bustled through the streets of the strange Carthakian port city, with its large open-air buildings and swaths of tent fabric. The day was warm and Alanna, who normally shivered at the slightest breeze, was hot in her thick Tortallian boots and leggings. Jon looked equally uncomfortable as sweat trickled down his brow. He shot her a wry glance before he was shoved roughly onto a large wooden platform in the center of the city plaza, Alanna and the other captures following close behind.

"Mithros," she whistled, gazing at the scene before her. The crowd was thick with men jostling one another for room, and everywhere was the unmistakable stench of sweating bodies. It was nothing like her cool, green homeland.

"Good people of Carthak, I bring you excellent treasures this morning," declared the sea captain smoothly. "Straight from the northern countries, I have two fine strong men, good for tilling soil on a farm or hauling bricks for a building. Look at these arm muscles! Look how they bulge so powerfully! Flex your arm muscles men!" He hissed at his captures, "Two young healthy northerners, who would like to claim them?"

Alanna was horrified at the way the sea captain so frivolously set about selling human lives. She lived by the code of chivalry and honor, and was disgusted to see such a base display of human cruelty. No law in Tortall would ever permit such barbaric behavior!

The crowd, obviously used to the affairs of the auction bay, began shouting numbers at the sea captain, who grinned gleefully each time the price was raised. One by one the slaves were auctioned off, first the men, then the young kitchen boy, then Mary and Pippy, whom Alanna was especially sad to see go, and finally, the two Tortallians.

"Ah, two of the finest looking northerners I've ever laid eyes on!" Asserted the sea captain, "one handsome young man fit for waiting on kings and princes, and one unique little lass with bright purple eyes and flaming red hair. Imagine bedding such a one of a kind creature! Who would let such exceptional jewels escape?"

"I'll pay eight gold nobles each for the pair," called out a sneering voice.

"Eight? _Eight_? Surely you're not trying to rob me good sir! Why, these fine specimens have traveled all the way from the northern countries, they are unlike any of our southern slaves here. They are worth far more than a mere eight gold nobles each!"

"Fine, keep your northerners," drawled the man unctuously.

The slave trader tried to look pained, "make it twelve per slave and you've got your self a deal."

"Eight each, sixteen total, and that's my final offer!" The buyer exclaimed vehemently.

"What if I throw in this fine northern crafted sword? It's one of a kind! Completely original! Very unique—"

"Hmm…it is rather shiny…very well, add the sword and I'll pay twenty."

The trader contemplated the deal for a moment and then accepted, looking a bit perturbed, like a child that didn't get to eat dessert before dinner. Nonetheless, he willingly handed over his charges and gathered up his sailing crew. Tonight they would spend their coppers in Carthak's pubs and brothels, enjoying the exotic southern drinks and women.

The man who had bought Jon and Alanna signaled to his servant, who gathered their ropes and directed them to follow. Alanna and Jon looked at each other, fearful of their fate but overjoyed to have been sold together. Alanna's greatest fear, which she never verbalized to Jon, was that they'd be separated at the auction bay. She didn't think she could survive this dangerous country without him by her side.

Jon and Alanna were lead through the large brick paths of the city and eventually to a docking bay, where they boarded a long narrow river boat that carried them to the capital city, Carthak.

"Why in Mithros' name did they name their capital city the same as their country?" Alanna muttered, feeling groggy from the boat ride. Sure, it was just a little boat, but it was still a boat!

They were brought to a large white sandstone house at the center of the city. Alanna could tell it belonged to a noble from the luxurious decor; fur rugs lined the carpets and velvet curtains decorated the walls, finely painted vases and potted plants were tucked neatly into corners and niches, and the cool marble floor shone as bright as freshly polished armor. Alanna would have been impressed, if she hadn't known this beautiful house was built with the sweat and blood of innocent slaves.

A slave arrived in the great hall to split them up, despite Alanna and Jon's protests. She was sent to the woman's quarters and him to the men's. The stony stare of the slave woman that led her away did not encourage Alanna one bit. She shivered despite the heat as she entered the kitchens, where a bundle of rags was promptly tossed at her feet.

"Here-ah are th' rules-ah missy; you do as you're-ah told, when you're-ah told, by whom you're-ah told. Any questions?" Asked the slave woman pertly, who set about lifting a basket of potatoes onto the table counter for pealing.

Alanna stared and clutched her bundle of rags, unused to being so directly ordered about by a serving woman. She was a noble after all! Trebond blood was as blue as they came.

"Well, hurry up-ah girly, we've-ah gotta-lotta work t'do. These here 'taters won't-ah peel 'emselves."

Alanna sighed and changed into her rags. Really, they were quite despicable, but she was no stranger to taking orders or working hard or getting dirty. She just preferred to work hard for herself and for her contry, not for some fat pompous slave owning Carthaki nobeleman. But orders were orders, and she'd do what she was told until she could figure out a plan to get out of there and sail home.

As she peeled away, she wondered what Jon was up to. Where had they taken her knight master? The thought of Jon doing some menial chore like peeling potatoes or shoveling horse dung made her snort with laughter, not because she found her friend's enslavement amusing, but rather because he was a _royalty _for Mithros' sake. How many crown princes were ever forced to peel potatoes? It was absurd really.

The thought of Jon made Alanna sigh wistfully. Already she missed him and they had only been separated for a good two hours. But the uncertainty of not knowing where he was or how he was doing made her nervous. She thought briefly of escaping while the coast was so clear, but she could never leave without Jon.

"Not-ah like that! You're-ah wasting th' meat! There's far too much of it on those skins you're-ah tossin'" barked the slave woman, who snatched Alanna's peeler out of hand to demonstrate the correct potato preparing procedure.

Alanna snapped out of her worrisome revelry; she had work to do.

Saphron

A/N: This was a long one! Just cuz I love you all… (would you guys prefer though that I post longer chapters every 3 days or shorter ones every day?)

Lol it's funny how everyone in Tortall is lookign for them, and they're not there. Heh. I wonder who shall find them first, friend or foe...

The slave's woman accent is very distinctive. I just got tired of everyone's accent always being the same as George's, with all the "yers" and "th's" Yes, it's a fun accent…but not _everyone_ Tortall has it for Mithros' sake! Get a little variety people, I know you're creative, you can do it. Cheers.


	7. Chapter 7 Lonely Nights

**Homeward Bound: An Alternate Version of _In the Hands of the Goddess_**

By Saphron

_Summary_: Flashback to Alanna's squire years during the Tusaine War. What if, instead of winning the war, Alanna and Jon had ended up lost in enemy territory? Together the two must go on a long and arduous journey to find their way home, but will the two kill each other first? Or will they accept the budding feelings growing between them? Or will they even make it back in time to save their homeland from certain doom? Read and find out ;)

_Genre_: Action/adventure, romance

_Rating_: PG-13

_Disclaimer:_ I like cake.

_A/N_: **Hey, how do you put those nifty page break lines in?** I tried putting in squiggles and spaces but the ff.n formatting takes them out (booo) Anyone know? Gratsi m'amores.

SUPER LONG CHAPTER, BECAUSE Y'ALL REVIEWED SO KINDLY:D (Please continue doing so if you indeed like this ficcy? xx--makes puppy dog eyes--xx)

Jules -- Thank you! I try to keep everyone as acurate as possible, because it's just so annoying when chars are OOC.

Confused Knight -- I like when you're hyper lol.

piglet12345 -- Thanks for responding! You were very helpful. And btw, my sn shares the '12345' thing, go us.

Beaky -- Sorry about the typo...don't worry, won't happen again.

Love mage -- Don't worry I don't leave me readers hanging, I update as soon as possible...so far I have a track record of a chapter a day, not bad eh?

LadyKnightofHollyrose -- It's a deal!

Sunkissed Guacomole -- Lol I'm from LA so I appreciate some fine Mexican food gauc. :)

Brokefang05, WitchyMage, browneyedbeauty21092 -- Many thanks darlings! I'm glad you're enjoying the story .

Someone others reviewed but my comp is retarded and only shows 15 out of the 19 reviews...I don't know why...I think there's a time lag because yesterday it showed 11 when there was 15, etc etc. But yeah, whoever reviewed, I heart you indefinitely.

Onto the nice LONG chapter :D

xxxxxx

**Chapter 6 – Lonely Nights**

_Carthaki port_:

The tracker strolled the city streets whistling, soaking in the heat permeating the air. It suited him. Tusaine was rather chilly this time of year, and the sunshine felt warm on his back. However, this was no time to enjoy his vacation; he still had to find the Prince. His fog spell had led him to Carthak, but with each passing day the spell grew weaker. Tracking spells were like that, they had the expiration date of a jug of milk.

He knew he didn't have much time, but surely he could spare a few moments to purchase a new Carthaki blade? Their daggers were curved like a scythe, but small enough to fit in one's boot. Fascinating! It'd be the perfect weapon to hold to the Prince's tender royal neck.

_The Nobleman's Manor_:

After nine long days of anxiety Alanna was finally allowed to see Jon again, albeit only briefly. While washing a load of dirty laundry she glimpsed him scurrying down a hallway, looking dejected but resigned. Alanna tried to call out to him but he was gone around the corner before she had even caught her breath, and she knew she'd never find him in the confusing maze of a house with all its hallways and strange inner open air courtyards. How the Carthakis lived like this she had no clue, but she was thrilled to see that Jon was still alive and living under the same roof as her.

Approximately some twenty odd slaves, mostly women who cooked, cleaned and kept house, a few stable-boys and hostlers for the nobleman's horses, and a second tier of slightly more valuable slaves who had the ability to write scrolls, were housed at the Carthaki manor under the ownership of Lord Penikth, a seedy blimp of a man dedicated to playing court games and trying to win favors with the right nobles. It was his sole goal in life to befriend the emperor's inner circle, even if he had to resort to underhand tactics to do so.

He was married to a whiny stick woman named Panya who squeaked orders to her slaves to plait her hair, apply kohl to her eyes, and adorn her in turquoise necklaces and head pieces. Her sole goal in life was to be the most beautiful at court, but she often merely resembled an overdressed peacock.

Of course, the two had practically nothing to do with another. Panya was sleeping with her hairdresser and Penikth's bed was shared by a new girl every week. Alanna was very careful to avoid being in his sightline, for fear she may be one of them.

After they had been bought they had been left in the charge of their respective head slaves. Lord Penikth seemed to have purchased them on a whim and subsequently forgotten them, trusting his old slaves to teach them the ways of the household. Since Alanna and Jon both had the sprightly appearance of youth, they were pleasing to the nobles' eyes, and Alanna often found herself waiting on the vain peacock, fetching warm bath water and scented perfumes and the like, while Jon often served Penkith as a scribe.

Lady Panya made a rare exception of Alanna, and actually deigned to talk to a slave. Not politely or respectfully, but she acknowledged her existence in order to probe her knowledge of the latest Tortallian fashions.

"How do you northern women wear your hair again slave? Twisted up like this?"

"Yes m'lady, we often curl out locks and let them frame our faces," Alanna murmured, trying to remember all the balls she had been forced to attend as a page and squire. Although, it's not exactly like she ever took notes on what kind of ornaments the noblewomen sported in their hair, seeing as how she was far more concerned with trying not to trip over her own feet during dances and hiding from Delia the green-eyed flirt! She was used to being a boy and knew very little about typical woman's things.

Whatever she didn't remember she just made up, and as such Lady Panya often found herself sporting the strangest of ensembles, thinking herself the height of northern fashion. Alanna tried not to snicker _too_ hard when she saw the mistress of the house actually adorned with feathers in her hair and a plethora of pearls strapped around her ankles. Imagine, wearing a bracelet on your feet! It was a hilarious sight to behold, and the only thing that made Alanna laugh for a week.

The days dragged on and Alanna grew more and more miserable. She was set task after menial task, an endless stretch of mind numbing work that sucked at her core. She made a mental note to double the salary of every servant under her hire once she returned to Tortall!

To make matters worse, the slaves of the house were aged and bitter, resigned to their dreary lives and the daily toil, and as such didn't exactly feel chummy enough to want to make friends with some new girl who, as far as they could tell, received preferential treatment from the mistress of the house. Even though Alanna never asked for such singling out, she nonetheless found herself at the envy of every woman slave in the manor, although Mithros knew why they'd desire to be wait on such a useless mouse of a woman like Lady Panya. But with Jon kept mainly to men's duties—horses, city errands, scribing, etc.—and the women's stony stares, Alanna felt lonelier than the Black God.

She thought wistfully of the palace, how she longed to be training for her shield right now, even if it meant getting smacked by the broadside of a sword and landing on her rump! Gary and Rahoul would be fighting duels over court beauties' gloves, Stephan would be saddling Moonlight up for a midnight right to town to see George, Myles would be lecturing them on the wars of old and playfully chastising Douglas and Geoffrey as they goofed around in the back of class. Mithros, she'd be months behind the other squires in her studies when she got back! If she got back...

And George! Her King of Thieves would be awfully worried about her, although mayhap he thought her dead, just like the rest of Tortall. Imagine, everyone she ever knew thinking her gone from this earth…the thought was deeply depressing.

Jon too was feeling the painful ache of solitude. He quickly grew bored of drafting letter after letter of Lord Penkith's sycophantic attempts to gain favor with the court nobles. When he began longing for some of Uncle Garith's economy meetings, he knew he was in real trouble. If only he could talk to Alanna! But even though he knew where the woman's quarters was, it was strictly prohibited for him to visit them at any time without proper permission. The Carthaki nobles didn't want their slave women out of commission for nine months carrying a child, it was easier just to buy a new one rather than make one.

As such the two rarely saw each other, except in passing and occasionally at meals when their breaks from duty overlapped. These small pockets of time were treasures to the two Tortallians, who ached for the familiar comforts of their homeland and for each other's company. They could never publicly embrace in a hug, but the relieved smiles they gave each other were enough to communicate their feelings.

It was during one such lunch break that Alanna, who had been itching to see him for a week after tossing around a few ideas in her head, revealed her plan of escape to him.

"Jon, we can't stay here much longer, I can't take it anymore!" She whispered fervidly, making sure no nearby slave overheard her treasonous words.

"Neither can I, but what are we to do? The house is walled in, the only exit is through the front gate, and we're not allowed to go into the city to run errands unless accompanied by Penkith's personal guards. Somehow I don't think we'll just be able to stroll out of here," Jon sighed back sadly. Perhaps there was a time when he would have been charged for action, but now the situation just seemed direly hopeless. It appeared enslavement had taken its toll on the once proud prince; Jon was lost and afraid.

"Oh, but we will," grinned Alanna excitedly, making up for his lackluster attitude with twice her usual enthusiasm. "My gift has finally returned! It took forever after that healing I gave you, I couldn't even light a small candle without feeling faint, but the other night I was cold and without even consciously realizing it I had used my gift to warm myself up, and that's when I knew it was back!"

"Alanna that's fantastic! I wish mine had returned, but that damn arrow wound…I don't know why it affected my magic, but it has. Its tip was probably poisoned or something," Jon said bitterly, wincing at the thought of his slow and painful recovery. It was a good thing he knew how to write and had gotten assigned as a scribe, because there was no way he could do the heavy lifting the other slave men did with his shoulder still not fully healed. "So what's the plan?"

"Simple, I send a fireball Penkith's way and we high tail it out of here," Alanna smirked, relishing the fantasy of avenging the man who had so cruelly snatched away their freedom. "Oh, and while I'm at it, I'd like to turn the peacock's hair green…"

"Um, Alanna, not to deter your fighting spirit or anything, but somehow I don't think murdering one of Carthak's more prominent nobles is a good idea. Whatever we do, we've got to do it _subtly_."

"I was just joking," Alanna said, rolling her eyes. She hadn't laughed in a week, and was in a rare but rather devilish mood from the excitement of discovering her gift had returned. Jon shot her a skeptical look, so she lightly smacked him on the shoulder and quipped, "Although you've got to admit, fireballs are fun…"

"Alanna, be serious, this is our lives at stake here! I'm not sure what will happen if we're caught, but I know it can't be good. Now what's the _real_ plan?"

"Well…I was thinking I could use my gift to put the guards to sleep, and then we sneak out at night? It's your classic escape plan, so it should be pretty foolproof."

"Hmm…" Jon mused, "it does have its risks, but Mithros knows we can't say here forever."

Alanna grimaced at the thought.

"Meet me in the northeast corner of the inner courtyard at midnight, all right? Wear your darkest clothing."

"You mean my darkest rags?"

"Yes," Jon finally laughed, "our rags. Mithros, will I be glad to wear proper clothing again! I miss pants."

"Me too," Alanna nodded solemnly, as she really truly did miss her beautiful blue and silver Tortallian tunic laying in wait in her castle room, before breaking their whispered conversation at the sound of a slave approaching.

As she turned on her heel to leave, Jon called after her protectively, "Alanna! Be careful, all right?"

"I'm always careful, knight master," she replied pertly, smiling at him one last time.

Jon bit his lip as she skipped off. He knew she was excited to be able to do the thing she did best—kick enemy butt—but he was worried. They didn't really have much of a plan… He sent a quick prayer to Mithros for guidance and protection. If every they needed such divine intervention it would be tonight!

Saphron

A/N: Another longer chappie just for you, ye faithful reviewers/story alert-ers/fave story-ers. It's different writing for an audience than just yourself, you're so much more conscious of performing well and on time. I hope I'm not disappointing you kids. I don't think I am, but your reviews validate that spark of confidence and remind me to stop being a lazy ass and post again soon. :)

"Panya" means mouse in Egyptian. Fitting, no? (Carthak IS sort of modeled after Egypt yes? I mean the parallel references to the heat, the river, the slaves…it fits. Hmm ahh now all we need is a Moses character…yes I'm Jewish, in case ya couldn't tell lol.)

Ok, so the genre says romance, and yet…no fluffy bunnies anywhere right? Well hold your reins people, it's a-coming. Sometimes you need to build things up slowly…like a triple layer fudge cake, or good sex. Eh, do I have to up my rating now? Lol. .'

PS: "I miss pants…" Hehehehe. I love Jon.George too...ooher, I can't wait to bring him in more...


	8. Chapter 8 The Great Escape

**Homeward Bound: An Alternate Version of _In the Hands of the Goddess_**

**By Saphron**

_Disclaimer:_ I'm taking this feature out from now on. DUH I own nothing, of course. Assume I disclaim every chapter from no on, ok? Also taking out the summary/genre/rating, etc., cuz anyone who has made it this far knows it by heart all ready lol.

_A/N_: So according to my stats, there's been like 200 hits, and like, 20 reviews. So I guess **1/10 of you are super awesome!** (As for the other 9/10…well I know I don't always review everything I read, unless I thought it was particularly good/interesting or so bad I needed to constructively criticize. _So I assume the same about the rest of you_, which I guess means you think this story is ok, but not great. Or terrible.)

That's cool, I can respect that and all, because I'm not Miss Egohead over here lol, but all I'm asking is that IF you DID happen to find this story more than just average or decent…will ya leave a little comment saying so? Because that lets me know I'm on the right track, and shouldn't just discouragingly throw in the towel and go back to my real life business, like midterms. Cuz y'know, I'm at one of the hardest universities in the country (speaking of that, everyone apply here! We have an AWESOME English program!) and I've got a lot of shit to do…but I don't want to disappoint my loyal readers, so I stay up till 3 am every night writing. I'm serious, the fire alarm went off last night at 2:45 am (gah, dorm life!) and I was still awake. Writing. This fic. For you. So yeah. Thank you. That's the end of my begging shpeal lol.

_And now, for personal notes to reviewers, ahem:_

_ConfusedKnight_ – I'm glad you liked the overdressed peacock lol, that was one of my fave creations too .

_Catri-Howlman_-Carthaki spy – I'm so glad you listed my story as one of your favorites! Wow, I'm honored. Ditto Sunkissed Guac and Queen Alanna!

_Kelsey, Jules_ -- thanks kiddies, I know what you mean about authors who post like once every couple million years and it's so freakin' frustrating. I'm definitely keeping it up :-)

_Sun Guac_ – You've reviewed almost every chapter. If there was a reward for that, you'd sooo win it.

Ok, ON WITH THE STORY ALL READY LOL.

(Thisis one of my fave chappies, so enjoy)

xoxoxoxoxoxox

**Chapter 8 – The Great Escape**

"Psst, Jon, do y'see me?" Alanna whispered, careful to keep her voice barely audible. She was late to their meeting spot after having had quite the difficult time sneaking out of the woman's quarters. Old Marm had been suspicious when she went to bed early, and seemed to be keeping a hawkeyed stare on her all night. It wasn't until Alanna was positive she heard the old woman's deep guttural snore that she felt safe enough to spring lightly out of her cot and tiptoe through the wooden doorway and down the marble hall.

"Alanna! Mithros there you are! I thought you weren't coming, I thought something had gone wrong all ready…"

"It's far too early in the night for something to go wrong Jon, and don't worry I'm fine. Old Marm is quite the snorer," she wrinkled her noise and stifled a giggle. Jon's stiff manor sobered her up quickly however, and soon the two were pad footing through the shadows to the guard's gate.

Alanna had never cast a sleeping spell before, except on herself when the nights were cold and she grew tired of shivering under the covers for hours, but she didn't think it could be _too_ hard. After all, Roger had managed to bewitch her and even Faithful with that strange sleep inducing fog, and Faithful wasn't exactly a normal cat. Briefly her heart panged for her dear pet, but she put those feelings aside. She had work to do.

Alanna closed her eyes and reached deep inside herself, searching for the little bright ball of violet flame that was the essence of her gift. She found it easily and pulled out wisp after wisp, weaving them into a dazzling purple stream only she could see. The aqueous stream slipped from her fingertips and rolled in waves along the ground to the guards' feet, where it slowly snaked around their ankles and began curling upwards along their legs and torso like an incandescent vine.

"Ach, I reckon I'm-ah getting too old for this job Dubloo, I'm tired as th' dogs," a guard muttered, stifling a yawn. His companion also yawned and began blinking his eyes rapidly, trying to fight the overwhelming urge to curl up and sleep right there on the floor. That would never do, Lord Penikth would have his hide, literally!

But the simple guards were no match for Alanna's newly returned magic strength, and soon they lay quiet as kittens. Alanna smirked as she stepped over the sentries—it had been so easy! If only she could have used her gift when she was in the hands of the traders or sailors, then they could have escaped ages ago!

_At least we're on our way now_ she thought, a slight spring in her step. She was ready to go home! Even Jon had perked up considerably, once he realized how simple it was to stroll out the front door like George must have done countless times during his late night raids. He took Alanna's hand in his as they slipped along the shadows, and the two walked in comfortable silence through the gate.

Their plan would have worked perfectly—if it weren't for one small detail. For unbeknownst to the happy pair, another creature was stalking the shadows outside Lord Penkith's manor. A man that had blood on his mind.

_Tortall_:

Duke Roger mused over his spell, contemplating if it provided enough evidence to work with. In order to trace where the Prince had gone, he needed an object connected to him. In other words, he needed to visualize a scrap of clothing, a bootstrap, a dagger, and tie the spell to it. But alas, such clothing objects were only good for small tracking spells used to find a lost child in the marketplace or squire wandering around in the woods. This particular case needed a _much_ more powerful article, given that the Prince was miles away and had been missing for quite some time.

In fact, ideally he needed an object Jonathan carried clasped to his breast daily, preferably a magic one. But as far as Roger knew, his nephew carried no such thing.

But his squire did.

Roger grimaced, remembering the day he touched Squire Alan's cursed god given sword. At the time he was furious such a small ignorant boy was in possession of such a powerful magical object, but now he thanked his lucky gods the boy still had it on him, for Roger could trace the sword all the way to Carthak. Carthak! What was the Prince's squire—and therefore, presumably, the Prince—doing all the way in Carthak?

But perhaps the pair had died—he hoped—and the sword had merely fallen in the wrong hands, traded down the northern countryside until it landed in a Carthaki port. No, Roger couldn't be sure the sword was in the hands of its owner, not yet anyway. But he'd find a way, he was Roger the Black Robe, most powerful mage in Tortall—he always found a way.

_Carthak_:

"OW!" Alanna yelled, forgetting to keep her voice down. She had just run into something—something _hard_—with a loud thump. And it _hurt!_

A curved blade flashed in the moonlight and was at her throat in seconds. Alanna blinked, completely caught off guard. Never had someone managed to pin her like this, not after George's careful training!

A pair of hooded narrow eyes glinted and Alanna gulped, not knowing what to do. Jon stepped in—literally, out of the shadows and into a pool of moonlight—and said quietly, in the most regal voice he could command, "please remove your blade good sir, we mean you no harm."

The armed men gasped in shock, he recognized that voice, that dark black hair, those deep sapphire blue eyes—it was the Prince of Tortall! The man he had been searching for for weeks! He had traced the last embers of his fog spell to this manor, and luck be had, his prey walked right into his path…

The entire transaction of recognition occurred in a few mere seconds, although to Alanna it felt like ages. Her startling cry had roused the guards out of their magic induced slumber, and before she even had time to process what was happening, Lord Penkith's men were swooping down on the surprised trio.

The tracker made to lunge at Jon, blade pointed out, but one of the guards blocked him, grunting "hey you! That slave doesn't-ah belong to you, what d'you think you're-ah doing damagin' someone else's property, eh?"

The Tusaine easily twisted out of the guard's grasp and flashed off into the night, extremely angry had hadn't managed to kill his prey but unwilling to tangle with a nobleman's personal guards. Carthaki nobles were even stricter and more uptight than Tusaine nobles; they had a nasty habit of cutting off people's fingers and toes.

As for the two poor Tortallians, they were surrounded in a matter of moments. The guards didn't bother to chase the strange cloaked man, but there was no way they were going to let two of Lord Pankith's more valuable slaves escape! Mithros, they'd meet the Black God for that.

"Well, well, well, what 'ave we here?" Whistled the head guard, "two slaves tryin' t'break for it, eh? I don't know how ye did it, but rest assured we'll never make the same mistake again twice and let _you_ two wander the grounds free. You'll-ah be sleepin' chained to th' beds from now on, an' tomorrow? Well, the punishment for a disobedient slave is forty lashes. I suspect you'll-ah be mighty soar t'morrow—that is, if the Black God don' take ye first."

...Saphron...

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_A/N_: I betcha y'all thought they'd escape, eh? You really think Ol' Saphy here is gonna be _that_ predictable? Ay kiddies, I have the whole plot laid out and there's quite a few twists and turns around the bend for our two favorite heroes…enjoy ;)

Haha, I also bet you thought I'd leave you hanging after "A man that had blood on his mind." I contemplated it…but then I moved the guards scene from ch. 9 to here because I thought it would just be too evil for y'all. I mean, you've been reviewing so faithfully! Although I wish the other 175 people would do the same ---sighs sadly like little a lost lonely puppy--- c'mon, y'know you want to tell me what you think in that little blue box down there…make Saphy happy… :-)

Oh and by the way, the title of the chapter is obviously meant to be ironic, in case you couldn't tell.

The next chapter is even longer! REVIEW SO I CAN PUT IT UP:D


	9. Chapter 9 When Darkness Falls

**Homeward Bound: An Alternate Version of _In the Hands of the Goddess_**

**By Saphron**

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_A/N, ahem:_

I've had some questions about **romantic pairing**…well, I think you'll just have to keep r&r-ing to find out! (Hey does anyone else use that term, "r&r" "read and review"? It was big back in my day, although probably all us old veterans are long gone…) Although, I don't think it's that hard to figure out…unless I throw a few curve balls in. You'll see. Some of you will probably be really happy at the ending, some not so much...

Also, **the Tusaine** is the **tracker guy** who has been following Jon and Alanna from day one, sorry if I didn't make that clear. (His name, you may remember, is Danke, and he wants Prince Jon and 'Squire Alan' dead, because he is working for Duke Hilam, and there's still a war going on between Tortall and Tusaine back at home.)

By the way, I have _midterms_ coming up (eww) so I don't know if I'll be able to keep this chapter-a-day posting rate up…: ( but Mithros knows I'll try. xx :cough:review:cough: -- hint : hint : nudge : nudge : wink : wink: xx

**+ QUESTION**: What does Orzone physically look like? I.e.; tall, short, black-haired, brown-haired, etc etc? And what's the color of his gift, anyone know? Else I'll just have to make that stuff up…

_+Personal notes:_ YAY! I'm really happy to see some new reviewers! I love my veterans (CK, piglet, QAoC, SG, etc.) but I'm also really happy to see some new names up there :) _nativewildmade_, _charlie and lola_, _Mercury-Shadowfeather_…hi! Thanks a million for reviewing! You make me want to post more :-D And your welcome _Jules_, and seriously _Witchymage _lol, it would have been SUCH a cop out if they just walked right out the door..

Right. Now that that's cleared up…on with the show.

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**Chapter 9 – When Darkness Falls**

_"Thy treasures of gold  
Are dim with the blood of the hearts thou hast sold;  
Thy home may be lovely, but round it I hear  
The crack of the whip, and the footsteps of fear." _

-- Lydia Maria Child , From the anti-slavery song "The Yankee Girl" quoted in her book "Slavery's Pleasant Homes", 1843

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_Tortall_: 

Solomon shook his head and sighed as he wiped the counter of his beloved Dancing Dove inn. A dark storm was raging outside the doors and consequently the inn was bustling, packed with people who dashed in eagerly to escape the torrential rain pour. But despite the booming business and merry hubbub, Solomon was not very happy. He glanced worriedly at his King, who sat on his thrown with his head in his hands and a barely touched glass of wine held limply in the crook of his hand. Ever since his Majesty had received news of Squire Alan and Prince Jon's strange disappearance, he had been ill-tempered and dejected. The entire court avoided him for fear of getting their heads bitten off, and rumors were starting to spread that George was no longer fit to be king.

Solomon would never admit it, for he genuinely liked George and the way he ruled with a tough but fair hand, but he was starting to think the gossip-mongers had a point. George just wasn't the same, he seemed to have lost that mischievous spark glowing within him, and now appeared to be walking through the motions of daily life, barking orders miserably and sighing half-heartedly when thieves returned, only vaguely interested in the rubies and sapphires they laid at his feet.

Solomon knew the king was good friends with the bright eyed lad who'd come by night to visit the Dancing Dove, but he had no idea the two were _that_ close. True, the pair would often disappear together in George's chambers to discuss their private business, but Solomon assumed it was just that—business. Mayhap there was something more to it though, for Squire Alan's disappearance to affect the normally cool and composed rogue this much.

Solomon pondered these thoughts as he wiped the stains off an old ale mug. It was going to be a long stormy night.

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_Carthak_: 

Alanna groaned agonizingly, in more pain than she could ever remember being in. And that included Ralon's brutal beatings, the Yandsir's powerful spells, and her deeply injured arm wound during the Tusaine War. Mithros! Every inch of her body stung with the criss-cross cuts burned into her flesh. Even lying still, she felt as if she was dipped in a vat of stinging acid, the soft tissue of her tender skin seared from her bones and burnt black to a crisp. The tears leaked from her eyes continuously, though she tried her best to stifle them with every ragged breath. The merest movement made her feel dizzy enough to pass out—she briefly wondered if she'd even survive the night, or if blood loss and pain would call the Black God to her first.

Carthaki laws regarding slaves were incredibly, unjustly strict. For a minor offense, like speaking disrespectfully to a noble, a slave was denied food for the day. For attempting to run away, the punishment included severe beatings, often with a pronged cat o' nine tails lash. For striking or harming a noble in any way, the slave was immediately sentenced to death, as per Carthaki law, which was extremely careful to squash any chance of a mass slave uprising. The nobility was paranoid about a revolt.

Alanna used to wonder why the Carthaki slaves didn't stand up for themselves and attempt to overthrow the corrupted system, or at the very least try to procure their own safety and freedom, but now she sure as hell knew why. They all feared this excruciating punishment, and who could blame them? Alanna didn't think she'd have the nerve to attempt an escape again, even if the opportunity arose. She might not survive another round of forty lashes.

Jon was fairing little better than his squire. He dimly remembered the events of last night, the happiness he had felt that now seemed a lifetime ago. He had been so sure of their freedom, so excited to be on their way home, that he had taken Alanna's hand in his, warmly communicating the comfort he felt in her presence. The two had traveled so far, so long, and so hard, and now it seemed they'd never make it home. They were chained to the beds, guarded day and night, not even allowed to use the privy without an escort!

Alanna still had her magic, and mayhap she could attempt to escape again (perhaps with the help of a few fireballs, which, in retrospect, didn't seem _that_ bad of a plan…) but she wouldn't be able to take him with her, for they were separated at all times. The Carthaki's weren't idiots, they realized the two Tortallians were bonded together, would never leave without one another, and would do anything to protect one another from harm. Lord Penkith and his head guardsmen who ordered about the slaves used that knowledge to its full advantage, often threatening to hurt the other's friend if they showed even the mere hint of disobedience.

Consequentially Alanna was more miserable than ever. Now she didn't even see Jon at meals or breaks period, and the women were even more unfriendly after the attempted escape, as Lord Penikth chose to use the incident as a reminder to what happened when slaves attempted such folly, and crack down on his household even harder.

Alanna was especially worried about Jon, for she had been able to use her gift to heal herself somewhat, but she had had no contact with him since the cursed day they dragged her into the open air inner courtyard in front of all twenty three slaves and whipped her until her breath ran ragged. Mithros! He could have even been dead for all she knew!

Somehow though, she suspected he was still alive, as every now and then she'd see a flash of jet black hair on a tall well-muscled frame slip through the shadowed archways. Her lip would tremble as she blinked quickly, trying to discern if what she had just seen was a mere illusion. She prayed every day for such a sighting, but the gods only heeded her prayers twice.

Just as the days looked like they were doomed to stretch on ad infinitum, Lord Panikth announced that he'd be hosting a grand affair to celebrate his wife's newly announced pregnancy. Of course, Panikth's ulterior motive was to impress the empire's most notable nobles, and therefore no expenses were spared, nor slaves. Alanna briefly worried that Penikth would punish her for her past disobedience, but he wasn't so petty; he needed every slave he had to organize the grand event. Alanna and the other slaves worked for weeks in preparation for the ball, cleaning the house from the topmost tower tier to the lowliest basement corner.

All hands were to be used during the ball, stabling horses brought by the guests and carrying trays of expensive wines and delicious hour devours. The slaves were warned that if they so much as hungrily glanced at the mini quashes askance—let alone actually snuck one into their mouths—they'd be banished to their rooms and chained to their beds for the remainder of the evening. No one would dare to eat the fie cuisine after that, every one of the slaves were too excited to attend the ball, even as servants, and see all the court nobles dressed in their finest. The women slaves would gather enough gossip to last them for weeks! Even the men were considerably cheered up at the prospect of a change in pace, and the chance to brush elbows with some of Carthak's richest. It was even rumored that some mages were to be hired to present a fantastical magic light display called "fireworks!" What sight that would be to behold!

The excitement that permeated the air grew daily, and Alanna even found herself able to strike up a few conversations with her fellow slave girls, who were notably more cheerful in prospect of the ball. She wouldn't call them friends exactly, but a shared whispered giggle over the peacock's latest habit of wearing frilly knee socks and seashell earrings (which Alanna had told her were all the rage in Tortall) was a blessing to the lonely Alanna. One of the girls, a small hazel-eyed brunette named Nikki, even reminded her of a bit of Pippy, and Alanna found herself briefly chatting with her fellow slave about her capture (minus her Tortallian nobility) and the awful boat ride over. It turned out Nikki was not a big fan of boats either, and the two girls quickly bonded.

But best of all, the thing Alanna was most excited about, was that she'd probably catch a glimpse of her Prince at the ball, mayhap even a hurried spoken word! She missed him so much, she hadn't seen him in weeks, and she just knew she'd be able to find him at the ball.

Cheered by these thoughts, Alanna day-dreamed idly as she scrubbed the peacock's undergarments in a wash bin, a chore she normally detested with a passion.

_She imagined she was at the ball on her way to the kitchens to refill her tray, when a devilish whisper tickled the soft spot on her neck right behind her ear. She'd slip behind a curtained pillar where Jon stood grinning, a finger held to his lips for silence…_

"_Alanna, I've missed you so much, I was so worried…" he'd say quietly, pulling her into a deep hug. She'd nuzzle against his breast and—_

"GIRL! Yer-ah washin' them clothes wrong!" Old Marm barked, snapping Alanna out of her idle revelry. She sighed and began scrubbing harder, but a ghost of a smile still lingered on her lips.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

……**Saphron…..**

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_A/N_: Ooher, we got a little darker now didn't we…but than a little fluffier…so what do you think? I know this story is drawing on, each chapter more teasing than the last, so um, are you guys bored or anything? Let me know please. I hope you're not bored :(

Oh and aren't you like sooo mad at Marm for interrupting Alanna's daydream lol? I admit, I wanted to play that out a little more…but mayhap I'll play it our for _real_, hehehe. You'll see what comes ;) And George was in this chappie, hurrah! I love George.

Coming up next chapter: **The Grand Ball**. What crazy thing will happen then? Hmm, how about I give you guys a little teaser lol? Like they do for television shows, "stay tuned for scenes from next week," etc etc. Ahem:

_Finally it was time for Alanna and the others to leave the kitchens with their shiny silver trays carried daintily in their hands. Alanna circled the room, murmuring "care for a quiche?" at guests who passed by, but all the while keeping an eye out for Jon. She frowned when she couldn't see him anywhere; mayhap he was busy stabling the horses?_

More to come ;) (um, assuming you guys aren't bored or anything…)

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	10. Chapter 10 The Grand Ball

**Homeward Bound: An Alternate Version of _In the Hands of the Goddess_**

**By Saphron**

_Ahem:_

Ok, I luuurve this chapter, and it's extra-extra-long, so I hope you do to! **Enjoy** (…and review?)

(Up to 44 reviews now! That is STELLAR, I can't wait to hit the BIG 50! I think I'll throw a party when that happens...dance around my dorm room a bit...y'know, the usual)

Oh and by the way, sorry for getting some details wrong :( As I mentioned before, I don't have any of my books with me (-cries inconsolably-) so I can't really check stuff...but still, I apologize profously, and thank you WitchyMage for pointing out the fact that the bartender's name is wrong (I knew it was -something- with an S...) and I'm missing slave collars. Er, I didn't even remember they existed, I haven't read Wild Magic in forever... -sigh- oh well, just keep letting me know, sorry again guys.

And I'm glad y'all aren't bored! So now, for your viewing pleasure, the NEXT CHAPTER. Huzzah!

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xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

**Chapter 10 – The Grand Ball**

_O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend  
The brightest heaven of invention,  
A kingdom for a stage, princes to act  
And monarchs to behold the swelling scene!_

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-- William Shakespeare, Henry V (prologue)_

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_Carthak, outside Lord Penikth's manor_:

The tracker hissed miserably at the limbs that had fallen asleep while he crouched in this awkward position behind a fruit seller's stand. He wiggled his left leg, attempting to shake it awake, but scowled instead at the tingling pain. He had spent the last few weeks perched outside the nobleman's house, waiting for the Prince to emerge again, but in all this time the bastard royal never came! It was maddening, he new exactly where his prey was, but he couldn't get to him. The Prince was better guarded here in Carthak by a nobleman's personal house guards than back home by the entire Tortallian knight force!

_Patience, patience_, he thought to himself, _the Prince will come eventually…and then I will have my chance to slit his bloody throat…_

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_Inside Lord Penikth's manor:_

The trumpets blared as heralds announced the arrival of the Carthaki nobles. Alanna wiped sweaty hands on her tunic—yes, tunic, Lord Penikth had decked out all his slaves in nice attire in order to present a rich façade to his guest—even though she had been to plenty of balls before, she was particularly nervous for this one. The household had been preparing for weeks and everyone present was on edge, tense but excited. The guards were lurking in the shadows keeping an eye on the slaves, lest they try anything roguish while the master of the house was distracted with guests.

"Aye, I'm just so-ah excited t'see them nobles all dolled up!" whispered Nikki happily, squeezing the last dollop of frosting on a giant triple fudge layered cake. Alanna whistled in appreciation at her culinary skill, she was by her side putting the finishing touches on a cheese platte. Old Marm assigned her the duty of arranging the mozzarella and brie into a pleasing display, which she figured couldn't be _that_ hard, even for a culinary-challenged Alanna, who normally had the cooking skills of a deranged five year old pyromaniac. But she had picked up a few skills while at the manor, and felt capable enough to organize some cheddar.

Finally it was time for Alanna and the others to leave the kitchens with their shiny silver trays carried daintily in their hands. Alanna circled the room, murmuring "care for a quiche?" at guests who passed by, but all the while keeping an eye out for Jon. She frowned when she couldn't see him anywhere; mayhap he was busy stabling the horses?

Just as she was starting to completely freak out, she saw him stride through the door—a bit of hay perched on his shoulder—and fetch a tray of wine glasses to carry. Alanna breathed a sigh of relief and slowly weaved her way towards him.

"There you are! Mithros Jon, I thought you'd never get here," she whispered out of the corner of her mouth, before turning to bow and present a cheesy hour devour to a roaming guest.

"Sorry," he grinned, "they needed my amazing skill to put horses in a stall, it's really quite the demanding job, fortunately I'm so talented—"

Alanna laughed and nudged him with her elbow, pleased to see he had returned to his normal mirthful self despite the brutal punishment from the disastrous escape attempt. Obviously the prospect of the ball and seeing Alanna again cheered him considerably.

They quickly caught up on each other's lives; Alanna told him about her new friendship with Nikki, the barking mannerisms of Old Marm, the peacock's ridiculous ensembles, and Jon shared life as a scribe to a pompous windbag whose idea of a good letter included every kowtowing adjective in the dictionary. They didn't have much time to talk however, for soon they were called to serve the main meal; roast pheasant drizzled with cranberry sauce, tossed green salad with raspberry vinaigrette dressing and sunflower seeds, freshly baked buttered rolls, spiced cider and mulled wine, a wild saffron rice side-dish, salmon glazed in a light pesto sauce, and baked eggplant ziti smothered in mozzarella and bread crumbs. Alanna's mouth watered at the sight but she resisted temptation. Lord Penikth had already had her hide once!

Suddenly to Alanna's utter horror, the full pitcher of wine she was holding tumbled out of her hands and landed squarely in a guest's lap. Alanna's eyes widened in shock—look what had she done! How could she be so clumsy!

"I-I'm so sorry my lord, I'll go get a towel I swear, please don't be angry, it was an accident!" She croaked, visibly paling.

The guest gave her a quizzical look, as if to say 'calm down and stop babbling please, it's dreadfully annoying.'

"Don't bother, I can clean it up myself," he replied evenly. With a whish of his hand the purple stain tarnishing his tunic ebbed away and disappeared. Alanna couldn't help but whistle appreciatively at his magical craftsmanship. Mithros, that would be a useful spell to know the next time she was at a ball and accidentally spilled all over herself!

The guest looked at her askance, "you accent is strange, I can tell you weren't born Carthakian. Pray tell, where do you hail from?"

Alanna briefly contemplated lying to the guest, but decided it was pointless. First of all, it was common knowledge around the house that she was Tortallian, all he had to do was ask another slave, and secondly, it didn't really matter anyway, no one from the southern lands would know or recognize the Tortallian prince's squire! Jonathan _maybe_—but she doubted it. No one they had met so far had anyway.

"Tortall, my lord," Alanna responded, "the capital city, to be precise."

"Ah," he nodded knowingly, "and what exactly is a Tortallian noble doing working as a slave in Carthak?"

For the second time that night Alanna gasped in shock and dropped her wine pitcher—again, straight onto the guest's lap.

He frowned and muttered, "You've _really_ got to stop doing that."

"How did you know?" Alanna asked quietly, thankful this conversation was happening at a far corner of the long table, out of ear shot of most of the other guests.

"Simple, you speak like a noble, not a common peasant. You also seem to understand how magic works, most commoners would gasp in awe at a simple cleaning up spell, because they just don't understand, but you, well, you whistled in appreciation, as if you would like to know how it works so you can try it out yourself."

Alanna blushed, embarrassed this strange man had read her so easily. She had thought she had been so clever and careful hiding her true self! "Begging my pardon sir, but isn't it possible that commoners can have the gift too?"

"It is," said the guest slowly, "but it rarely gets developed past a simple warding charm or good luck spell, unless the family has enough money to send their daughters to a convent or some such. Besides, if I wasn't sure before, I am now. You just confirmed that you are, indeed, a noble of Tortall."

Alanna turned an even deeper shade of red and fought the urge to slap herself on the forehead. How many stupid errors could a person make in one night? She had been so caught up in the shrewd observations this strange man displayed that she hadn't even bothered to lie. Although, given how keenly observant he was, he probably would have seen through her guise anyway.

"It's a long story," she murmured, shifting her wait uncomfortably.

"Ah, the best stories are always the long ones, mayhap you'll tell it to me one day. My name is Lord Oppenheimer by the way, what did you say yours was again?"

Alanna hadn't said her name and had no desire to now; this Oppenheimer fellow all ready knew far too much about her for her liking. Fortunately for Alanna, Lord Penikth chose this moment to stand up and commence his host duties. He tapped his wine glass with a spoon, silencing the room for an announcement. All conversations quickly died down, just in time for Alanna, who gratefully stood clutching her empty pitcher. Saved by the pompous pincushion in a tunic!

"Your attention, dear friends!" Lord Penikth declared, "As you all know, I have gathered you here tonight to celebrate the upcoming arrival of my new son or daughter!"

The room clapped politely as Lord Penikth heartily chuckled and pretended to blush, "yes, yes, well what can I say…a fine man's first duty is to produce a fine heir! Ah, but now that this delicious feast has ended, I request you all to exit through the balcony doors and assemble in the garden, where I am sure you will find quite the pleasant surprise from our friends at the University!" Lord Penikth finished with a flourish, bowing to his audience before striding across the room and through the open doorway that led outside.

The guests followed, eager for the night's promised entertainment from the mages of the University. The slaves trailed in their wake, accumulating behind the circle of nobility on the fringes to watch the show. Jon slipped next to Alanna and shot her a quick smile as they lined up together, almost daring to take her hand but deciding against it in the direct presence of Penikth's guards.

A tall tan-colored man with long black hair strode forward confidently at the head of the pack, accompanied by a slightly shorter man with lighter colored hair but an equally confident attitude. The pair, obviously students from the University by their youthful appearance, headed to the center of the circle of waiting nobles and bowed to Lord Penikth and Lady Panya.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," the tall young man began, "My name is Arram Draper, and this is my colleague, Ozorne Muhassin Taiskhe. Tonight we have assembled, for your viewing pleasure, a spectacular light show that we like to call 'fireworks!'"

"We bring you, all the way from the University, a dazzling display of magic," chimed in the other mage, "do not be afraid, even though these incantations are all made of fire, they can not harm you, for we are in complete control of these spells. Just don't reach out your hand and touch anything," he joked, smiling warmly at the laughing crowd.

"You may all thank Lord Penikth after the show for asking us to be here tonight," Arram continued, "And now, without further ado, we present to you fine nobles of Carthak—_fireworks_!"

Black magic veined with white shot out of the tall mage's fingertips and sailed to the sky in a tiny ball, where it suddenly burst with spectacular fury into a dazzling umbrella of color and light. Sparks showered down on a gasping crowd, who 'oohed' and 'awed' with every beautiful explosion. One after another the two mages released the tiny black and silver balls, each more incredible than the last.

Alanna couldn't draw her eyes away from the sky—it appeared as if the heavens themselves were aflame! Mithros, it was the most gorgeous thing she'd ever seen. She felt a warm hand slip into hers and briefly she glanced at him, her dear noble Prince, who she had sworn to featly serve and protect with her life. So far she hadn't managed to serve him very well, seeing as how he was enslaved in a foreign country, but at least they were together. Every step of the way, they were together, and really, that was all that mattered.

The moment would have been perfect, if not for the rogue fireball that suddenly started whizzing around uncontrollably, zipping chaotically through the air like a wild fanged animal unexpectedly set free. The guests gasped and ducked fearfully as Arram Draper frowned and puckered his brow, desperately trying to regain control of the disobedient spell. Orzone was waving his hands furiously in the air and muttering strange incantations under his breath, gentile ladies were screaming and covering their carefully crafted hair, Lord Penikth looked furious, and Alanna didn't even notice, but she was clutching Jon's hand tight enough to cut off circulation in his right pinky finger.

The twirling fireball abruptly began speeding towards earth like a crashing comet, heading straight into the fringes of the crowd. Alanna realized in one split second that the deranged firework was going to crash into _Nikki_!

Without even stopping to think, Alanna yelled loudly and shoved a bright purple blanket of magic from her fingertips. It settled in the sky like a glass ceiling around the trembling Nikki, whose wide eyes and pale face made it clear she was in no condition to flee from the fireball, being frozen to the earth in shock.

The monstrous sphere crashed on Alanna's magic barrier and exploded in a decadent display of sparks, scatting flecks of light and magic everywhere into the hysterical crowd. Arram finally managed to terminate the last vestiges of the fireworks just as Alanna's wall began to fade. Orzone shouted above the chaos for silence while Nikki passed out in a dead faint. As the crowd finally settled down, Alanna was left standing amidst the charred wreckage of burnt gardenia bushes, hundreds of eyes turned intensely on her.

…**..Saphron….**

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_A/N:_ Well…did you like? I don't know why, but I loved this chapter, I think because it was so exciting. And it included fire, tehe. But what will happen next, now that everyone knows Alanna is a mage! Keep r&ring to find out!

By the way, some of you are probably clever enough to pick up on the subtle foreshadowing in this chapter. Kudos to you if you realized the significance of it! I'm sure you'll feel quite vindicated when you see what's to come, knowing you noticed it ages ago…


	11. Chap 11 Amid the Charred Gardenia Bushes

**Homeward Bound: An Alternate Version of _In the Hands of the Goddess_**

**By Saphron**

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_Personal notes:_

_LK of Hollyrose:_ Heheh deranged 5 y/o pyromaniac…thank you!

_Nativewildmade: _OMG you're so cool, not only did you r&r this, you reviewed my math trilogy lol! I like you :)

_CK:_ Yes I have msn, you can email or IM at Just for you…a little fluff!

_Jules_: Thank you, I thought it was one of the better ones too, if I do say so myself.

_SG_: Wonder Woman! Lol I love it! Maybe I should change my penname :P

_Brokefang05_: Hope this is soon enough for ya.

_Hidden Fairy_: Yes! Retro slang! "Mad," I love it!

_Lady Knight_: I'm hurrying lol

_WitchyMage_: Most likely that is how you spell hor de--erm, however you spell it lol, I don't speak French, so I just guessed… AH! "Tortallian" wasn't a typo, that's how I actually thought it was spelled lol, you mean it's not? Oh dear. Well, that's awefully embarrassing. Erm, that's ok though… Numair will make a cameo appearance but no, actually he won't play a huge role…I don't think anyway. Maybe. We'll see.

_Leila_: I'm really glad you stumbled across this fic and decided to stick around for subsequent chapters (with a possible bookmark? I'm honored!) haha especially with that threat of yours! I try to spell everything properly and be as grammatically correct as possible because I view that as a sign of respecting one's work, which is something all authors should do—take pride in their work. It doesn't mean the occasional typo never escapes my view…but I try. And the spellings ARE quite strange aren't they lol, I like my funky underused letters. His name doesn't mean anything, I just made it up (although I guarantee you her name does mean mouse, at least according to my research sources) because well…I thought it sounded interesting. Thanks for such a thorough solid review, I really appreciate it when readers care enough to give some good feedback.

_Kathryne of Tirragen_: Hehehehehe...yes I DO enjoy torturing my characters, it adds alittle spice ;) And glad you found that one line so entertaining!

_MS:_ LOL yes well, everyone loves a good cliffy...

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xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

**Chapter 11 – Amid the Charred Gardenia Bushes**

_"What's to come is still unsure: In delay there lies no plenty; Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty, Youth's a stuff will not endure."  
_

-- WilliamShakespeare

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_Tortall_: 

King Roald's head rested limply on his fist as he sat slumped in his chair. Duke Roger had just reported that, try as he might, he hadn't had any luck locating the whereabouts of Prince Jonathan. His wife was inconsolable upon hearing the news, for if the most powerful mage in Tortall couldn't find her son, whoever possibly could? Her ladies in waiting had practically carried her off to her bedchambers to rest; she had all ready been growing steadily weaker each day, as she had never really gotten over her bout with the Sweating Sickness, but now Jon's disappearance seemed to be the final blow.

Duke Garith twitched nervously, which was very uncharacteristic for the normally calm and self-assured man. But the King's behavior worried him to no end; Roald didn't sleep, didn't eat, refused to attend court functions, and even went so far as to lock himself in his study and turn away all but a few of his closest friends. In fact, Garith hated to admit it, butnot only the King needed help--all of Tortall was in trouble.

With the Queen miserably ill, the King wretchedly depressed, the Crown Prince missing and presumbed dead, Tortall's royal leadership was in shambles. Roger had taken over many of the King's duties, seeing as how he was of Conté blood and next in line for the thrown, although Garith of course was at the forefront of all advisory meetings. Nonetheless, the citizens of Tortall felt as if they were teetering on a dangerous precipice. The war with Tusaine had died down to a few border skirmishes, but men were still dying on the front lines and the Tortallan task force was quickly dwindling.

Duke Garith resisted the urge to violently shake his wilted King awake; the country was falling to pieces without a strong leader to guide them! Yes, Jon's disappearance was tragic, but Tortall needed her King right now more than ever, and here he was hiding from his problems like a little boy, not the royal monarch who had a duty to his people.

"Garith…you're dismissed."

"But your Majesty, we still need to discuss the border attacks along the northwestern fiefs! Lord Merrymont has requested backup troops—"

"Let Roger handle it, I don't care," said the King churlishly, "you are _dismissed_."

Garith sighed and bowed low to the ground, "yes your Majesty, I'll close the door behind me, as you wish."

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_Carthak:_

_The monstrous sphere crashed on Alanna's magic barrier and exploded in a decadent display of sparks, scatting flecks of light and magic everywhere into the hysterical crowd. Arram finally managed to terminate the last vestiges of the fireworks just as Alanna's wall began to fade. Orzone shouted above the chaos for silence while Nikki passed out in a dead faint. As the crowd finally settled down, Alanna was left standing amidst the charred wreckage of burnt gardenia bushes, hundreds of eyes turned intensely on her. _

Silence greeted the trembling Alanna as she stood quivering in her boots. What had she just done! She _hated_ using her magic in the best of circumstances, even in tiny little doses, let alone in such great big powerful extremes; the sheer strength of it scared the living daylights out of her. Not to mention the fact that she had just completely given away her true magical abilities, thus tripling her value as a slave and guaranteeing she'd end up being forced to use her magic on a daily basis for Mithros knows what terrible end. But of course, she hadn't been thinking of these things at the time, she had just done what any decent knight-in-training would do, and rescue a damsel in distress.

But that didn't change the fact the rose bushes were still smoldering and about 150 pairs of eyes were fixed on her.

"Well done young slave!" Cried out Lord Oppenheimer, clapping heartily, a beat behind the settled silence, "that was quite the display of magic! How very brave of you to expand so much magic at once like that."

"Er…" was all Alanna managed to choke out. _Brave?_ Her? She just had just done what was most natural to her, that was all…

"Lord Penikth, I had no idea you had such talented slaves under your tutelage. Pray tell, where ever did you find her?"

Upon being addressed by a guest, Lord Penikth finally snapped out of his stunned surprise and stammered out, "er, yes, er, well, only the best here at my house…um, but perhaps we should all head inside now, aheh, I'm sure the musicians will be happy to play a lovely waltz…" He began waving his hands forward enthusiastically, ushering everyone inside, away from the firework disaster zone, with a wild shooing motion. The guests, still slightly dazed from the explosion, herded through the doors like cattle, murmuring with each other and hashing out the court gossip that would last for weeks. Lord Penikth had wanted his ball to go down in the history books as a grand affair, although he hadn't planned it quite like this! By the Black God, people would be talking about "the killer fireball at Penikth's party" for _months!_

As the University mages passed by Alanna, Arram stopped and gave her a grateful pat on the shoulder, murmuring in her ear, "thank you for helping out young one, I don't know why we lost control of that spell, but it would have been terrible if it had cost a life. You did a good deed today."

Alanna was too still stunned to reply, so she gave a small nod and tried not to wince. Arram bowed to her slightly and then moved on to the ashen-faced Nikki to apologize profusely for nearly obliterating her. The girl seemed to perk up a bit in his presence, or at least, she was able to walk again, which was quite the feat in light of her near-death experience.

As the garden slowly emptied, Alanna felt a strong pair of arms wrap around her shoulders firmly but gently and smiled at Jon, who wore an extremely worried expression on his face. He released her however, when Lord Oppenheimer approached.

"Tell me slave, where did you learn that defensive shielding magic? Most warrior mages can only conjure the basic one-man shield; it takes a great deal of strength to be able to repel a magiked fireball!"

"Shield magic?" Alanna muttered, shaking her head, "I know of no such thing, I just…well I sort of pushed my gift out of me and onto her." She didn't really no how else to explain it.

Lord Oppenheimer eye's gleamed before he dashed off at a brisk walk, murmuring, "I'm going to have a word with Penikth…"

Soon only Alanna and Jon were left amid the crisped gardenia bushes. Nikki had trotted after Arram, seemingly fascinated in his magical skills (and likely, his tall muscular frame as well…) The guards had accompanied the slaves and marshaled them back to the kitchen to fetch more wine and the dessert platters, although they had stayed clear of the intimidating Alanna, who was still glowing a light violet around the edges. The guests were slyly gossiping with one another as they twirled around the dance floor; Lord Penikth's desperate waltz could not stop the whispered hiss of rumors from spreading like an epidemic. Only the charred flowers were there to keep them company.

Jon turned to her in the moonlight and raised one of his eyebrows quizzically, as if to say 'are you _sure_ you're all right?'

Alanna punched him lightly on the arm, "stop it! Don't give me that look, I told you all ready I'm fine."

He pretended to wince in pain but the grin that broke out on his face gave him away, "I know, I know, but I can't help but worry about you. You are my squire after all—it's the knight master's prerogative."

Alanna grumbled about arrogant knight masters but he knew she didn't mean it. He could tell by the way the corners of her mouth twisted up and her eyes danced in the shadowy night sprinkled with moonlight. Jon would never admit it to her, for he could barely admit it to himself, but he thought she looked quite beautiful out here in the garden, even with a tiny smudge of ash on her cheek.

"Do you know what else the knight master's prerogative is?" he asked softly, wiping the smudge away with a gentle thumb.

"No, what?" Alanna asked, turning to peer at him curiously.

"This," he whispered, cupping her face tenderly in his hand. Softly, almost timidly, he leaned down and kissed her.

For the second time that night Alanna was thrown into a complete state of shock. First out of control fireballs, and now a_ kiss?_

Fortunately—or perhaps unfortunately?—Lord Oppenheimer burst into the garden at that exact moment and Jon pulled quickly away. Alanna nearly fell over, she was so surprised. His warm lips had felt…nice. More than nice, actually.

"Good news young slave! I've just talked to Lord Penikth, and he's agreed to sell you! You'll be leaving with me tomorrow morning!"

**…..Saphron….**

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A/N: Some long-awaited fluff has finally arrived! You asked for it, and I delivered. And ok, I know gardens, moonlight, post-traumatic stress, it's all a bit cliché…but hey, there were punches, witticisms, and most importantly, burnt flowers, so cut me a little slack lol. I admit I'm not the best with fluff, never have been, although I love reading it when it's well-written, but um yeah, hopefully you guys weren't too disappointed…were you? 

Oh no, will the two be separated? And just when things were getting a little juicy! Hehe, keep r&ring and y'all find out ;)


	12. Chapter 12 Alanna Gets Mad

**Homeward Bound: An Alternate Version of _In the Hands of the Goddess_**

**By Saphron  
**

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_Personal notes_:

_Jules_: Glad you approve! I wanted to stay as in character as possible (hence why I directly quoted the book…) while still getting a little fluff in.

_Charlie and lola_: You shall find out! And rest assured, this story is completely A/J. George will find his way in but…it's designed to be A/J lol. Or at least, if the two can ever find themselves NOT in some terrible compromising position…

_QAoC_: Aye, our favorite lass will be in a spot of trouble, curse that Lord Oppenheimer lol! (I hope you don't mind that I abbreviate your name for personal note purposes btw, just tell me if ya do)

_CK_: "Stuff latin homework, fanfiction rules!" LOL! Dude your reviews always amuse so much I love them!

_SG_: I knoooow poor heartbroken Jon…actually, I was going to sell him along with her, but your review inspired me to change the whole plotline and keep them separated lol! Hehehehe oh my….

_Nativewildmage_: Woah hun I don't want to kill any of my loyal reviewers! I guess I'll just have to post ASAP, in order to keep you alive then…

_Witchymage:_ No no you're not whiney at all! I'm glad you point these things out, seeing as I don't have my books with me to check facts I rely on your keen eye for noticing these little flaws. Thanks for your help!

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**Chapter 12 – Alanna Gets Mad**

_"One should not lose one's temper unless one is certain of getting more and more angry to the end."_

-- William Butler Yeats, W.B. Yeats Memoirs **  
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_Tortall_,_ throne room_:

Roger smiled to himself, twirling the King's favorite scepter in his hand. Normally no man would dare to touch the royal emblem of the Throne of Tortall without explicit permission, but this was no ordinary time and he was no ordinary man. Ever since he had informed the King and Queen of Jonathan's mysterious disappearance and inability to be found, the King had slinked away to his chambers to drown in a dark depression, while the Queen hardly left her bed, leaving Roger free to take over many of the royal duties an heir to the throne would be obligated to undertake. Why, he was halfway on his way to becoming Kind all ready!

It wouldn't be hard to dispose of the King and Queen in this state and make it look like an accident. The King, heartbroken over the loss of his son, would suddenly find himself no longer able to carry on with living, and would do the unthinkable and actually take his own life. The Queen, all ready weak from sickness and worry, would slip into the Dark God's hands upon hearing the tragic news, and with no heir in sight, Roger would be the only one left to take the thrown! And best of yet, there would be no one here to object to his acquisition or start a civil war—he was, after all, of Conte blood.

Of course, there was the _slight_ problem that somewhere in Carthak Prince Jonathan was alive…but he doubted that very much. The Prince would never abandon Tortall willingly; if he was alive, he'd struggled with ever last breath to make it home again. No, in all likelihood he had been killed during the disastrous rescue attempt skirmish along with his squire, whose sword had been passed on and traded down the coast to arrive in Carthak, where it probably stood hanging in some pompous nobleman's hall. Pity he'd never see the sword again, he wasn't to examine it for its obscure mysteriously ancient power, but if it was a choice between an old crusty sword and a dead prince he'd take the prince any day! Mithros, Jonathan and gone and done all the work for him, destroying his own parents and himself with his foolish attempt to rescue his scrawny little squire. Roger hadn't know at the time that arranging the capture of young Squire Alan would be so beneficial to him, but thank the gods he had thought of that plan, because here he was, sitting in the thrown like he already owned the damn thing, twirling the King's favorite scepter, and chuckling merrily to himself. Ah, how the gods smiled down on him….

_Carthak, Lord Penikth's gardens:_

"_Sold_?" Alanna gasped, visibly paling.

Lord Oppenheimer looked delighted. He didn't seem to notice the less-than-enthusiastic response from his new purchase.

"You can't do that!" Jonathan practically shouted, surprising both himself and the jovial lord.

"Why of course I can boy, all though I must say Lord Penikth drives a hard bargain! Twenty gold nobles I paid for this girl, but I had to do it. I need a mage assistant for my work and with that gift she's just perfect!"

"Why not just hire some student from the University?" Jon asked acidly, forgetting he was addressing a Carthaki noble, "it'd probably be cheaper."

Lord Oppenheimer shrugged, "they can't really be trusted you know. Some of my…experiments…are very new, very exciting, and potentially, very profitable. The last thing I need is some young sap thinking he can get away with pilfering my hard work for his own career-making benefit! No, no, slaves are perfect, they would never be able to do such a thing."

Jon's brow furrowed in concentration but he could think of no rebutting argument to that logic, although his mind searched frantically for a solution.

"Don't worry though about your friend, she'll be fine under my care. I know a lot of nobles have a tendency to mistreat their slaves and whatnot, but I'm a firm believer in the idea that a happy slave will work harder than an unhappy slave. There will be no beatings from me, I assure you."

Alanna finally snapped out of her shock and felt her temper start to flare. What was this madness? Here she was being sold right and left as if she were a piece of furniture, not a human being! Oh how she loathed this debase barbaric system of slavery in Carthak!

"I won't go," she snapped, scowling sullenly.

"Pardon?" piqued the confused Lord. Had this slave just _refused_ him?

"I. Won't. Go," Alanna repeated, gritting her teeth to keep from hitting the man.

"Oh come now!" Lord Oppenheimer exclaimed, "I already told you I'm a perfectly nice master! Three square meals a day, a warm bed, no floggings, what more could a slave ask for? I know you were once a noble of Tortall"—Jon gasped when he heard this—"but for whatever reasons unbeknownst to me you have now become property of the Carthaki Empire and thus subject to be bought and sold on the open market as we nobles see fit. Besides, surely your treatment under Lord Penikth's care couldn't have been, er, as…desirable…as you would have liked."

"I don't care! I'm not leaving and you can't make me!" Alanna shouted, stomping her foot like a petulant child. She knew it was immature to lose her temper like that, but she didn't care anymore! She was furious, simply furious, how _dare_ this man interfere with her life? How _dare_ he deprive her of the one thing keeping her sane in this wretched land? _How **dare** he separate her from her Prince!_

Lord Oppenheimer just shook his head sadly, "I'm afraid my girl, you don't really have a choice. Like it or not, you're coming with me tomorrow."

"Er, I've-ah been instructed to get the two-ah slaves m'lord," a guard coughed, shifting his weight nervously from foot to foot. That one slave girl was terrifying! Who knew she had such magic in her? By the Hag, if he had known he never would have laid a hand on her. He shuddered, thinking about the day she almost escaped from the house; why oh why had he been the one to administrate the beatings? This girl could have easily killed him at anytime and he had been completely clueless. It was like poking a sleeping Cobra thinking it was a mere garden snake, and mercifully not getting stung.

Lord Oppenheimer nodded and murmured "very good, very good," before whisking back into the ballroom.

The guard nervously took a step forwards and muttered, "er, come on slaves, Lord Penikth is-ah waitin'."

Alanna's anger boiled over; she was still furious from her conversation with Lord Oppenheimer, and she still hadn't released the stress yet, so finally she just burst. With a lightening quick movement of her arm, Alanna drew back her fist and punched the guard squarely on the nose.

He cursed as blood sprayed all over his tunic, gasping and wheezing loudly with a hand held to his face. _The damn slave just _struck_ him!_

Jon didn't know whether to swell with pride at his fearless fiery young squire or smack a hand over his mouth in horror at what had just done. _She had hit a guardsman!_

Alanna glared, seemingly guiltless, and stalked off towards the edge of the garden. Jon shot one last disparaging look at the bowled over guardsman before dashing off behind her.

"Alanna! Mithros, why did you just do that?" He asked, half in awe, half in dismay.

Alanna glowered at him, "Why? _Why_? It's ridiculous Jon! They treat us like _property_! I'm tired of it!"

"I know," Jon frowned, "but they'll have your hide for hitting that guard…" at the sour look she shot him Jon quickly added, "er, not that that wasn't a good solid pounch."

"They won't beat me," Alanna sighed, calming down a bit, "now that they know I'm powerful enough to whack right back. Besides, apparently I'm leaving this wretched manor tomorrow; they won't even have time to get out the whips."

The thought quickly sobered them both and Alanna turned her gaze away from her concerned Prince. She fixed her stare on a charred rose and idly played with the wilted petals. The charred flower quickly crumbled into a fine black powdery ash on her fingertips.

"I won't let them take you," Jon whispered hoarsely, "I won't."

"I know," Alanna tied to smile but failed. "Think we can take 'em? You go right, I go left, they won't know what's coming," she joked, but deep down she knew such a far-fetched plan was impossible. Lord Penikth had what, fifteen guards under his hire? The two were both good fencers and strong opponents, but Lord Penikth had muscle on his side, and lots of it.

"We'll think of something," Jon assured her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. Alanna leaned into his hug as if it were the most natural thing in the world before it struck her—moments ago they had shared a _kiss!_ In all the chaos of Lord Penikth's announcement and the arrival of the guard she hadn't stopped to think about it, but suddenly with her face pressed to his chest and his strong arms holding her tightly she became incredibly aware of the heat emanating form the closeness of their bodies. Mithros! What in that world had that kiss been about?

Jon didn't seem to notice her cheeks turn a bright fiery crimson, nor her body stiffen slightly at the realization that they were exceptionally physically close. Alanna was actually grateful when about ten of Penikth's guards burst in on their elongated hug and pulled the two apart, that is until they began shoving Jon backwards towards the kitchens and dragging Alanna in the opposite direction.

"Jon!" She screamed, attempting to free herself from the arms of her captures. But her struggling did no good; wrestling had always been her weakest subject.

"Alanna!" he yelled back, before a hand muffled his mouth. His bit down—hard—and the fingers dropped from his face. He sucked in a deep breath and cried out one last time, "I'll find you again Alanna, on Mithros' name, I swear I'll find you!"

The last Alanna saw of her Prince was the ruffled mop of coal black hair as his head was ducked beneath the arched doorway, before he disappeared out of sight.

**...Saphron... **_  
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A/N:_ Ooooooooher, dramatic no? I'm not exactly making life easy for our two favorite heroes am I? What can I say, I'm evil like that. Review (for more) please?


	13. Chapter 13 A Fatefull Farewell

**Homeward Bound: An Alternate Version of _In the Hands of the Goddess_**

**By Saphron**

_A/N: _You get three quotes, because I just couldn't decide which I liked best. I'm such an English major, lol.

Does anyone know how to type an Irish accent? (Don't ask, you'll see…) Also, **Witchymage**, you mentioned something about slave collars? How do those work exactly? Are they magiked so that if a slave wanders too far something bad happens to them? Like, they get shocked, or what? Anyone know? Thanks a bunch if you do!

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**_Personal notes_:**

_The Inklings:_ Sorry lol! Try not to die though, because then you can never read the ending! .

_Jules_: I won't forget! As soon as I finnish a chappie it'll be up :)

_Lady Knight:_ I'll leave you a clue as to what will happen when they don't see each other for awhile: "Absensce makes the heart grow fonder..."

_Eridani: _Ahh are you an older veteran from the '90's as well then? Finally, another one! I too had abandoned this fandom only to treturn for an unexpected comeback, and I too, find it incredibly annoying how most A/J fics are just deserted halfway. Rest assured though that I have big plans for this baby, and will not rest until it is complete. I'm glad you find the plot interesting and unique, it's hard to come up with originality in a fandom of 5800 fics...thanks for your stellar review, enjoy the rest of the show!

_Witchymage:_ Ahh yes, I need to proof read better...so, slave collars? Those work how again?

_CK_: Are you on a constant sugar high lol? You're so cute always jumping up and down in your reviews!

_SG:_ Hahaha boys are sooo oblivious! LOL! So true, so true...

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**Chapter 13 – A Fateful Farewell**

"_Gone - flitted away,  
Taken the stars from the night and the sun  
From the day!  
Gone, and a cloud in my heart."_

-- Alfred Tennyson

_Absence from whom we love is worse than death, and frustrates hope severer than despair. _

-- William Cowper

_Only in the agony of parting do we look into the depths of love._

-- George Eliot

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_Carthak, outside Lord Penikth's manor:_

The tracker had watched as carriage after carriage carted finely dressed nobles to the nobleman's door. He had watched as dainty ladies delicately held their flowing skirts as they were escorted through the gates. He had watched as a flurry of slaves grabbed the horses' reins and lead the carriages inside towards the stables. He had watched the guardsmen spit resentfully when the nobles weren't looking, bitter about their lowly station in life and jealous of the nobles' riches. But what the tracker _hadn't_ seen was the sapphire-eyed prince he was sworn to kill!

That is, until he saw his squire.

He was snoring lightly when a sudden noise aroused him from his uncomfortable slumbers in the rain. He yawned and muttered, wanting desperately to return to his blissful dreams, but upon sighting a flaming lock of copper-colored hair his eyes had snapped open and he had jumped to his feet. Squire Alan—or at least, it looked like Squire Alan, but then, why in the Black God's name was the boy wearing a _dress_?—was practically being carried out of the building and dumped in one of the guests' carriages, despite his—his?—futile protests. The tracker wasn't sure what was going on exactly, but he had the sinking feeling that the move was permanent for young Alan—and Prince Jonathan _wasn't_ coming with him—or wait, her? How could that be though? Girls couldn't be squires! Was this just somebody's idea of bad joke? To dress up Squire Alan in a dress?

But no, the Tracker thought back to the last time he had run into Squire Alan, the night he had almost killed the Prince. It was dark, and he hadn't been paying much attention at the time, but come to think of it the boy _did_ seem to be wearing an awful lot of fabric swathed around his legs. Almost like a…well, like a dress. The tracker couldn't be sure, for the whole affair had occurred in ten blinks of the eye, but it was possible that Squire Alan had indeed been wearing woman's garb that night, as he had been today. And no one, surely, was playing a strange joke then.

So if Squire Alan was wearing a dress…than that could only mean one thing. _Squire Alan was a **girl.**_

The tracker mulled this over as he watched the carriage driver settle the horses in the stormy weather. _At least my job is interesting_, he thought to himself, before stealthily leaping up to trail in the wake of the passing carriage. There was no use sitting outside the nobleman's manor, the Prince was likely to stay there forever. But perhaps he'd see where Squire Alan—the _girl_—was going…

* * *

_Carthak, on a dirt road:_

Alanna stared miserably out the carriage window at the wet world that passed her by, each step of the horses hooves carrying her farther and farther from her Prince and deeper into the heart of Carthak. The rain was pouring outside, soaking the horses and carriage driver, but Alanna could only muster the tiniest bit of gratitude that she was not outside with them. She rather be sopping wet and with Jon then perfectly dry without him.

After Penikth's guards had carried her off and chained her to her bed—with magically reinforced chains of course—she had beat her pillow with her fists and screamed until her voice went ragged, but there was no one to hear her cries. All the slaves were still busy waiting hand and foot on the ball's noble guests, and Alanna was left to her lonesome until her fellow slave women returned around two strokes of the hour bell after midnight. By then Alanna was fast asleep, worn out from her hysterical screaming rage.

In the morning she was too weary to protest much as the guards hauled her up and threw her in Lord Oppenheimer's carriage. Oh, she tried to use her gift, but her new master quickly blocked any of her feeble spells, shaking his head and tsking at the disobedience of his new slave. Honestly! What a handful she was! If her gift wasn't so strong…but no, he needed her, despite her less than desirable personality.

Alanna had proposed that Lord Oppenheimer buy Jonathan as well, and the man had briefly considered it, for even if he had no need of an extra slave, if it calmed his new feral mage girl, perhaps the boy would be worth it, but Lord Penikth was reluctant to sell him. Jonathan was apparently his best scribe (naturally, who was better trained in the noble art of writing than the Crown Prince of Tortall? Even if Alanna thought his poetry was woefully lacking…) and he preferred to keep him.

Alanna had hoped to see him this morning, but he was kept far away from her in the men's chambers somewhere; the last time she saw him was the night before. What a terrible goodbye! Dragged off kicking and screaming, without so much as a parting farewell hug!

_That's not exactly true_, whispered a tiny voice in the back of Alanna's mind, _we were in the middle of a hug before we were separated…a very _close_ hug…_

Thinking of the intimate embrace they had shared last night made Alanna's heart patter uncomfortably. What was it that had compelled him to kiss her? Was he just happy she was all right after the deranged fireball incident, and expressing his relief in a, er, rather unconventional way? Or was there something more to it…?

Alanna didn't know and pondering it just made her more confused. She had feelings for Jon, strong ones, but as far she knew they were completely platonic. Yes, at times she found herself jealous of Delia the green-eyed flirt, but that was just because she knew what a heartless tramp the girl was, and she didn't want to see Jon get hurt!

_Or maybe_, hissed that tiny voice, _you wanted the Prince's undivided attention…_

Alanna shoved that thought away, casting her eyes out the window in a desperate search for something to distract her. Now was not the time to be sorting out ridiculous mushy feelings for her knight master! Now was the time to pay attention to her situation, to the fact that she was enslaved in a foreign country, all alone, and would soon be forced to use her gift for Mithros knows what end. Now was the time to formulate a plan to reunite with Jon and get the hell home.

Meanwhile, Jon was sitting against his bedroom's wall, head held in his hands in dejection. He had watched as the guards cruelly snatched his squire away and carted her off the next morning in Lord Oppenheimer's carriage, while meanwhile he was forced to stay behind and be a lowly slave for some pompous overdressed pincushion! _Him_, the _Crown Prince_ of Tortall! It was absurd! So absurd in fact, that he actually considered telling Lord Penikth the truth about his nobility. Surely once the Carthakis realized he was the heir to the Tortallan throne he'd be released and sent home! Along with his squire of course, whom he'd demand to see returned to him unharmed. To do anything less would be scandalous, it was the type of thing wars were fought over.

Of course, there was always the chance that the Carthakis could use their hostage to their advantage and squeeze money or land out of King Roald, but Jonathan chose to doubt that. The Tusaine of course, would have been more than willing to, seeing as how the two countries were at war (or at least, they might still be, Jon couldn't be sure seeing as how he had received no news of Tortall while he was here) but as far he knew Carthak and Tortall were…friendly. The two nations would never be allies, but a neutral peace existed between them and Jon felt sure the Carthakis would prefer to keep it that way. He hoped, anyway. He and Alanna had just never decided to tell them before because, well, they didn't want to take that risk…but now Jonathan was desperate, he couldn't handle this barbaric land alone. He needed his squire, and he needed her badly.

Steeled by the thought of his plan to tell the Cartakis the truth, Jon wiped his slightly damp eyes on his shirtsleeve and stood up. Today was the day he'd finally take his first step towards returning home.

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…**Saphron….**

_A/N:_ Not a lot of action in the chapter I know, but I needed some descriptive paragraphs to explain the situation. Y'all get indirect discourse though in the form of the character's thoughts and whatnot, so hopefully that's still good. Besides, it will be uber exciting seeing how the two get reunited! As always, bless me with those fabulous gifts known throughout the land as reviews, please and thank you.


	14. Chapter 14 The Truth Comes Out

**Homeward Bound: An Alternate Version of _In the Hands of the Goddess_**

**By Saphron**

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_A/N: _The slave's accents are meant to be Irish by the way. Don't ask me why, but in my mind they're Irish.

**WOW** -- 11 reviews last chapter! That's awesome, it's ch. review record I believe. I usually hope for about 5-7 (although 10+ is nice...) Good job guys!

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_Personal notes_:_  
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_WM_: Thanks so much for the info, you're like my own personal fact checker :) Yeah maybe the Jon as a scribe idea was a little weak...but I didn't want him sold so oh well lol. Hope this satisfies your curiosity!

_LKoH:_ Hahaha hooray indeed .

_Eridani:_ Come to think of it I'm 00-01 too, it just felt like so much longer...and no, no proliferous is a word lol, and there _was_ a glorious golden age of A/J fics once... (and K/J, as bizzarre as that sounds!) Yes I knew it was a transition chapter, and here's another one, but soon we'll be in the meat of the action once again. I'm glad this fic made it on your radar :)

_LK_: I don't know, how dare I? lol I just...dared! Ah, but at least I update quickly...

_Jules: _You're sincereley welcome darling.

_CK:_ Mmm...chocolate...haha wow that was a lot of vocab words! Your English teacher would be proud lol. OH! And thanks so much for recommending this fic to other people like citrusfruit! That is FANTASTIC of you! Spreading the word, hurrah!

_KoT_: Hehe torturing chars IS fun isn't it? I know Carthak is huge but they'll get together again...eventually...tehe (evil laughter)

_CitrisFruit:_ Yay! I'm glad CK spread the word and you're enjoying this fic! She'll tell ya, I update quite quickly as a srevice to my loyal r&r-ers, rest assured.

_NWM:_ aka, the Inklings, gotcha.

_piglet_: Hahah YES, yes, I am quite mad lol. So do you think I pulled off the Irish accent lol? Hehe!

_SG:_ Jon is a dolt isn't he...alas, he's a boy, what do you expect lol...

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**Chapter 14 – The Truth Comes Out**

"_No sadder proof can be given by a man of his own littleness than disbelief in great men."_

-- Thomas Carlyle

"_Truth will always be truth, regardless of our lack of understanding, disbelief or ignorance."_

-- W. Clement Stone

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_Tortall_: 

Gary sighed as he half-heartedly starred into his morning porridge. Rahoul was by his side, looking equally miserable, and it wasn't because of the tasteless quality of the gruel. The two knights missed their friends and feared the worst had happened to them.

"I still can't believe we'll probably never see them again," the normally cheerful Gary muttered, spooning his cereal idly.

"I know, I still can't believe it either. I don't _want _to believe it. I don't want to believe they're—"

"Dead?" Rahoul gasped, but Gary continued anyway, "what? There's no point pussyfooting around the fact, it's time to deal with it and move on. Tortall needs us right now Rahoul."

"I know, but you still don't have to say it, we don't know for sure," Rahoul muttered, purposely not looking his friend in the eye, unable to confront the cold hard truth.

"No," Gary said firmly, "we can only accept what happened when we admit the truth. The rescue mission didn't go as planned, something unexpected happened, and we lost them. What's done is done. Now, let's go tell Douglas and Geoffry to saddle our horses. We need to have a little talk with George. He should be told the news—Duke Roger has failed to find them, and therefore, they're most likely dead."

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_Carthak, Inside Lord Oppenheimer's Tower:_

Alanna's new home was far from any city, deep in the heartland of Carthak. Lord Oppenheimer was apparently known to be quite the eccentric hermit mage, although he was distantly related to the Emperor and therefore garnered a certain degree of respect from his fellow nobles, despite his odd mannerisms and tendency to isolate himself for months at a time, toiling away on various magical experiments. Alanna hated to admit it, but this strange mage resembled to the T her brother Thom, who was also quite the anti-social young powerful wizard.

Lord Oppenheimer however, was true to his word, and was neither cruel nor unkind to her. She slept in a relatively warm bed, never had to worry about tasting the whip's scathing sting, and ate three solid meals a day—most of which she was in charge of preparing herself, seeing as he only had two other slaves under his charge, both of whom were so old Alanna doubted they could see their feet in front of them. They seemed to just be there out of familiarity's sake, as if Lord Oppenheimer had had them forever and never bothered to replace or update them. Neither the old man or woman had the Gift, and Alanna presumed they were just there to do basic menial jobs like cooking and cleaning, because if they didn't Lord Oppenheimer wouldn't bother to eat or bathe, so caught up was he in his magical experiments.

"Ach, it's notta bad gig," said the old man with pale red hair dusted with white, "I've worked for many-a noble in m' days as a slave ach, but Lord Oppy 'ere treats us right. Why just last week me says to him, me says, 'master, I need some new trousers,' and by George the next day a new pair is a-sittin' on me bed, just like that! Blimey, I'd go so far as t' say he's a right spot on good feller, ach."

Alanna shook her head and wandered out of the kitchen and into the front yard that faced an endless stretch of rolling hills with a dark forest to the left. She gazed at the softly misted moors as she tugged at the slave collar decked around her neck. Lord Oppenheimer didn't have a houseful of guards to keep his slaves from escaping, so instead he used magiked collars that sent an electrical shock through her if when went too far past the property lines he had outlined. She was allowed to roam anywhere in the house, and about ten feet outside the door, before the shocking sensation kicked in, although Lord Oppenheimer could adjust the range at will.

Normally she'd grit her teeth and deal with the pain and attempt to escape anyway, but the magic shock was such that it left her legs tingling to the point of numbness, thus rendering her unable to walk at all. It didn't hurt exactly, it was more like the feeling of sleeping limbs--slightly uncomfortable, but not agonizingly painful. But besides which, there was nowhere to flee _to_. She was miles from any city as far as she could tell and she hadn't a clue about the layout of the land. She barely knew which direction was north! Mayhap she managed to be rid of the wretched collar and then what? Walk to Tortall? And without Jon? No, she had best just stay here, try and work on a more solid plan of action, although Mithros knew what it would be. How the damn collar itched though!

"Alanna! Come here a moment will you," she heard Lord Oppenheimer call from the topmost tier of his tower window. She squinted her eyes to block out the bright sun as she cast her gaze towards the lanky head hanging out the window. At least Lord Oppenheimer had the decency to refer to her by her name instead of "hey you, slave girl," which was normally the title she received back at Lord Penikth's manor, but it was little consolation in light of her situation. Technically she was being treated far better here at the Tower (as she liked to call Lord Oppenheimer's tall vertical multi-story house), but she'd give it all up to have Jon by her side again.

Trudging up the circular tower stairs, she glanced back one last time at the far off horizon. Jon was out there somewhere, Mithros knew where...

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_Carthak, Outside Lord Oppenheimer's Tower:_

The tracker wiped his muddy boots on a nearby log, growling with the effort it took to clean them. He hated the rainy season! The rains in Tusaine were more frequent but much calmer; here the storms were almost tropical in their torrential rain pour. And he had trekked through mud and water to get to this strange tower house in the middle of abso—bloody—lutely _no where_. Why, why bother? Who cared about the Prince's lowly squire? Normally the tracker wouldn't have troubled himself, yet there was something intriguing about the fact that Squire Alan was actually a _girl_…

Yep, definitely a girl—he had just seen her pop outside for a breath of fresh air and stare hungrily off at the distance. She disappeared back in the house before he could do anything, but still. He had a feeling he'd be seeing her quite a bit…and when the time was right, he'd strike.

_

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_

_Carthak, Lord Penikth's manor:_

Jon took a deep breath and knocked on Lord Penikth's bedroom door. He had managed to ditch his overlord for the time being, but of course, as soon as he told Lord Penikth the truth he wouldn't have to worry about being punished for such blatant disobedience. Lord Penikth, thinking it was one of the guards that knocked (as what slave would dare disturb a sleeping dragon?) called for him to enter.

Jon strode forward purposefully, stubbornly raising his chin a notch. He saw Lord Penikth glowering at an abashed Arram Draper, who stood awkwardly trying to bow his head in shame despite his six foot tall stature that rendered him a head above Lord Penikth's growling jowls. Lord Penikth was busy chastising him for causing such a ruckus at the party a la the deranged fireball incident, but stopped in surprise, one wagging finger stuck in midair, when his slave scribe entered the room.

"Good morning, my Lord," Jonathan said politely, bowing to Lord Penikth and Lady Panya, who sat wide-eyed in bed, equally surprised by Jonathan's presence. "I'm sorry to disturb your morning, but I have something very important to share with you."

Lord Penikth would normally have been furious at such an intrepid intrusion, but the slave's proud demeanor piqued his curiosity. "Well, what is it?" He snapped, scowling widely. He had been in the middle of a good solid chastising! After all, it wasn't often he got the chance to yell at a mage of the University without fear of being turned into a donkey!

Jonathan smoothed his tunic, looked Penikth directly in the eye, and declared in a calm, clear, ringing voice, "I am not who you think I am my Lord. You know I am from the north, nothing more, but in truth I am Jonathan of Conte—Crown Prince of Tortall."

Silence greeted the ringing echo of Joanathan's announcement—until Lord Penith burst out laughing. Jon frowned as the man cackled hysterically, slapping his knees in amusement and wiping tears of mirth from his streaming eyes.

"Y-y-you?" He spluttered, "a _prince_?"

"He does have the devilishly good looks of one," Lady Panya murmured, seizing up his tall, well-built frame for the first time. How had she not noticed this handsome young slave before? Perhaps because she was too caught up in her affair with her hair dresser…

"But that doesn't make him a bloody prince!" Lord Penikth roared, "Mithros boy, I should have your head for suggesting such a ridiculous thing!"

Arram Draper was silently counting his lucky stars this slave boy—why did he seem so familiar? Oh yes, he was friends with the mage girl who cast her shield spell to block the deranged firework—had chosen that exact moment to make his little announcement, seeing as it totally distracted Lord Penikth and got him off the hook. Perhaps now would be a good time to be making his farewells…

"Er, shall I leave you to your business?" Arram coughed, already edging away from the red-faced Penikth.

"Huh? Oh yes, right, just remember what I told you about dangerous spells—and by the way, if you expect payment for nearly killing one of my valuable slaves, you can think again mister mage!" Arram winced as Lord Penikth poked him in the chest with one stubby finger. He had been counting on that money to buy midwinter presents for his friends this year damnit! But there was obviously no use arguing with such a stubborn pincushion, so Arram simply bowed and made his hasty retreat, shooting the obviously unbalanced slave boy a reassuring smile, as if to say 'good luck, you crazy fool.'

Jonathan's sapphire eyes turned a steely ice blue as Penikth turned his attention back to him and ordered him out of the bedroom.

"Get out you liar, and don't ever make such preposterous claims again."

"But I really _am_ the Prince! Write to Tortall, ask the King, he'll tell you! My squire was captured during the Tusaine War and when I went to rescue he--er, him, I was injured and when I woke up these slave traders—"

"I said _enough!_" Penikth roared, spittle flying everywhere, "if you do not get out of my presence immediately I shall have the guards hang you from the rooftop by your toes! OUT!"

Jonathan looked abashed, but he didn't know what to do! He had felt _sure_ that once he revealed his true identity everything would be ok, the Carthaki's would whisk him and Alanna away on a boat sailing towards Tortall, and life would return to normal. He had never thought—never contemplated the possibility—_what if they didn't believe him?_

When Lord Penikth threw a soap dish at Jonathan's head (and mercifully missed by about ten feet), Jon fled, running blindly down the hallways at an utter loss.

_Mithros…what would he do now?_

…**.Saphron….**

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_A/N: _I betcha thought he'd be used for ransom eh? I admit, in the original plot line of the story that's exactly what happened! But the original plot also included Alanna and Jon being sold together...then I decided to be evil and change things up a little. Oh, you'll see, you'll see...all in due time kiddies!

Again, more description, I know. But I need to build things up so the climax will be that much more exciting…besides, I think you'll really get a kick out of next few chapters…Arram gets more involved, George gets more involved, some crazy shit goes down in Tortall with Duke Roger, Alanna is set the strangest of tasks, and (my faovrite part! Yippee!) Jon's new position is _very_, er, interesting... Too bad I have midtms this week and won't be able to post until thursday or friday…but Happy Harry Potter Day! Yay!

Review if you haven't done so all ready? Por favor? Gratsi .


	15. Chapter 15 The Mushroom Hunt Goes Awry

**Homeward Bound: An Alternate Version of _In the Hands of the Goddess_**

**By Saphron**

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_A/N: _**OH MY GOD**, your guys' reviews were so...so..._fan-bloody-tastic_ that I dropped what I was doing when I read them so I could write the next chapter and update immediatly! (!) I'm serious! Plop, there went my textbooks, ding, there went Microsoft Word opening up... I can't tell you how happy you all made me, so hopefully a promptly updated chapter will express my love and gratitude :) 

_Rating_: Does it require an increase? Let me know…

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**_Personal notes_:** (do you guys actually read these, I mean not all of them obviously just the one that pertains to you, or should I just cut this feature out? Also: no one minds abbreviated names right? And it's all in order form who reviewed first to who reviewed last, so it should be pretty easy to find your name in the list.)  


_SG:_ Haha the name Oppenheimer seems to be a big hit! I'm glad you find it tongue-rolling worthy .

_WM_:slaps forhead: God, this is so embarassing lol. You'd think I'd be able to spell Raoul properly...thanks so much for pointing out that (rather grevious) error! Hmm, don't worry about the slave collars, even if it's not exactly accurate, well, whatever, the main point is she can't escape. Hahah I know one of my favorite parts last chapter was when Lord Penikth poked Arram in the chest with his stubby little finger. Imagine it in your mind! So funny lol. As a poor starving college student myself, I couldn't help but throw in Arram's financial crisis. It's the little details that add nuances to a fic :) Oh and how did you get the little star thingies in your review? Whenever I type them anywhere on this sight ff.n kills them, I have no idea why...you must be magic! No duh, you're a witchy-mage lol.

_NWM:_ Yep, George and Arram play a small but crucial role, you'll start to see it in this chappie...and thanks for pointing out the (rather grevious) Raoul spelling error! Doy! I need to reread the books, aheh...

_LKoH:_ Ahh physics! Evil evil! How'd your exam go? I hope you passed! Thanks for the midterm luck, I blew calculus (well what do you expect, I'm a freakin' English major lol!) and I don't know about econ yet...

_CK_: Why darling, you honor me. I try to not be predictable and it's so nice when people realize that and appreciate it because sometimes it's hard y'know? It'd be easy to just go with the obvious, but that's boring isn't it? Lol. OMGosh you and CitrusFruit and Harry Potter! FUN! I'm jealous lol! I'm seeing it tommorow at Imax, since the midnight showing in Berkeley and SF was sold out. Dude, seriously thanks again for telling other people aobut this baby and spreading the word, I appreciate it tons. I hope your cross country race went well!

_KoT:_ Haha yeah that's the problem with multiple romance languages...you get a piece here, a pierce there. Por favor IS Spanish and gratsi IS Italian lol, I learned Spanish in high school but I'm studying Italian in college, or at least, I will be this summer when I go to Itally. I don't know, I like to throw out French words and German words and Hebrew words and Yiddish words I've picked up, just because. But anyway, you're very perceptive for noticing the differences, and I'm glad you're enjoying this fic!

_CF:_ H to the P is gonna be the bomb-dizzle! LOL! So cool you're going with ConfusedKnight, are you two friends from school or something? Did you meet through ff.n? You lucky British kids, HP takes place in your country! I loooove England, I spent a summer there studying at Cambridge University, it was beautiful. What part of the country are youguys form, south/London, north near stonehenge? Have you seen stonehenge? Is this a million questions or what! Sorry lol, I'm just a total anglophile. Good luck with Latin and French oral!

_Eridani_: Ahh, you clever, clever girl...thinking of possible hidden cards. Well, it turns out I do sort of have something like that planned (ish), but it's a slightly different scenario, etc. etc. (You'll see in due time, and feel very good about predicting the plot to a degree ahead of time lol) Thanks for the suggestion though! In general I have the plot outlined, although specific details are fuzzy of course, but I'm prone to make dramatic changes on a whim because of something a reviewer mentions. As I said last chapter, that's what I did with Jon and Alanna being seperated so...suggestions always appreciated! I didn't realize you were an author until you said something in your review, so of course I hastened over to your author page immediatly upon finding out such bountiful information out, and lo and behold there's a fabulously written Alanna fic awaiting me! Hurrah! It's raher unusual to comment on another author's work in a personal note replying to said author's review of the first author's work, but you're so talented I must insist you update as soon as is reasonable, because you're on my story altert list, and that's nifty. :)

_Piglet:_ Excellent! I'm so glad the accent met your approval! It's funny you said Scottish because I'm 1/8th Scottich (and damn proud of it! Although I love the entire UK equally and want to move there from America one day) Are you from Ireland, or England, or Scottland, or Whales, or somewhere beautiful like that?

_Jules:_ Hehe I know, Jon's a bit of a dolt (well what can you expect? He's a boy lol...) I'm updating ASAPing all right :)

_Evelyn:_ You make a very good point about the track record! Hence why you're reading this right now lol. Omgosh, I think I actually blushed when I read your review, because I always think the _exact same thing_ about so many, many other authors whenever I read their work. I'm happy because I'm reading an awesome fic, but I'm depressed because I'm like 'omg, they're sooo talanted, I'll never be able to write as well as that! waa!' And I just...I never thought someone would think that about ME. That's so freakin' incredible. Thank you for inspiring some confidence in me! I mean I think my writing style is pretty decent, but when I read reviews like yours I just want to cry from happiness. So wow, yeah, thank you.

_QAoC_: Don't worry about it babe, I know how school and friends and life can get in the way of the fandom world lol. I'm just glad you haven't abandoned this ficcy and are still reading and enjoying it .

_Chazza14_: Doy! Sorry about the (rather grevious) Raoul misspelling error, and getting the slave collars wrong too...I know there's no excuse, although I wish I had my books with me at college! But nooo, my mom was like, 'your dorm room will be too tiny! Don't bring books!' Big mistake lol. Anyway, thanks so much for offering your bountiful knowledge of Tortall! I don't think I need anything right now, but it'd definitely nice to know if I have a question Miss Chazza practically has the books memorized lol. Glad you're enjoying the story!

_LK_: Oh, you shall find out my dear, you shall find out indeed...

_hb23_: Hey there! Glad to see a new name on this review board lol! And don't worry, Alanna and Jon will reunite once again...and it will be magical when they do lol. I'm just one writer, that's all, just me. It's fine you don't read the disclaimers (I skip them sometimes too) although I guess that means you're probably not reading this? Ahh haha oh well, if you are, thanks for the review! I'm glad you like the story so far (and the name Oppenheimer)!

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**Chapter 15 – The Mushroom Hunt Goes Awry  
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_Lord Oppenheimer's Tower:_

"I'll need three _amanita _mushrooms, twenty ounces of quartz, and newt," Lord Oppenheimer told Alanna, checking off each item on his master list—a parchment that fell to the floor and rolled out the door. Alanna groaned at the thought; it looked like she'd be spending the rest of the day trekking around the forest in search of these bizarre items. Her only saving grace was that Lord Oppenheimer would have to enlarge the radius of her slave collar, which would give her a chance to get some bearings on the nearby land. But unfortunately it would also mean getting extremely muddy. She hated the rainy season!

So far he had made her mix bubbling potions that reeked of dead crows, sew transparent veils woven from the finest gossamer silk of one thousand Yamani silk worms, and encrypt ancient rune symbols on little stones and beads. She was often asked to use her gift, but only in small dosages, never for grand experiments that left her gasping, such as the work Lord Oppenheimer did behind his closed study door.

Alanna had no idea what he was working on, but she assumed it was something big—he spent most of his time slaving away in there, only coming out occasionally to mumble about "the second isotope" or "magiked matter." He would smile gratefully as Alanna handed him a cool cloth to wipe the charred ash from his forehead. His swaths of long hanging hair were often singed around the edges, giving off a faint burning smell Alanna eventually became accustomed to.

She grabbed her basket and walked purposefully out the door, waving to Old Patrick along the way, the sooner she got this chore over with the sooner she could return to the kitchens and make herself some dinner!

After a few hours in the dark woods looking for the elusive mushrooms, she began humming as she scaled the mini boulders along the stream's edge. The world was wet from the rain but for now the sun was shining and a glorious rainbow arched across the sky. Alanna whistled in awe when she spotted it, impressed by its beauty and grace. Such miracles of nature never ceased to amaze her…they were the real magic out there, not Lord Oppenheimer's bizarre experiments with frog's legs and guinea pig livers!

Suddenly a shadow blocked out the warm sunshine and Alanna frowned, glancing up just in time to see a darkly dressed man leap from behind a tree and attempt to tackle her to the earth. She jumped back, nearly tripping over the slippery stones beneath her, and flailed her arms to catch her balance. Mithros! Who in the world was attacking her?

The tracker whirled, not in the least bit off balance after missing his target. He smiled at her, although the warmth did not touch his eyes, "ah, you're fast young girl—or should I say, Squire Alan?"

Alanna gasped and dropped her basket in the river. Damn, there went the mushrooms she had so carefully gathered all afternoon! But clearly she had bigger problems than a few lost fungi.

"W-who are you?" She asked, reaching for a sword that wasn't there. Her hand grasped empty air—what she wouldn't give for Lightening right now!

"Just an old friend you once knew," the strange man grinned toothfully, flashing his extremely sharp canines.

Alanna's eyes narrowed—somehow she didn't think this man had ever been a "friend" of hers…

"I want you to tell me why the Prince is in that nobleman's house and when he plans to come out," the Tracker said, crossing his arms expectantly.

Alanna's eyes widened—not only did this dangerous looking man know of her true identity, he knew the Crown Prince of Tortall's as well! "How did you know?" She asked, stalling for time. She'd have to be very careful with this man to not reveal anything of importance.

"That does not concern you," he drawled, "and please stop wasting my time stalling, it won't work. One way or another, I'm going to get the information I need out of you—the easy way, or the hard way."

Alanna gulped and took stalk of her position. This man was likely armed—who knew what dangerous weapons he held beneath his cloak—but she had the gift. She wasn't accustomed to using her magic to attack people, but mayhap she could still defend herself with it, or at least distract him and give her a chance to run.

Before she could respond, he lunged again and took her down. She was on her back in moments with the strange man pinning her arms, a blade clasped in his teeth. She tried to shift the weight of her pelvis to throw him off, but he was about fifty pounds heavier than her, and wrestling had never been her best subject. Mithros knows George had tried to teach her, but somehow it just never stuck.

Right when she was about to throw up in panic, a blast exploded just to the right of the pair, close enough to singe the collar of the tracker's cloak.

"I say, you there young fellow! Get off my slave at once!"

The tracker glanced up at the voice that had sent the spell and Alanna seized the opportunity to bring her knee swiftly forwards and up, giving him a good swift kick in the place where the sun don't shine.

The tracker groaned and grabbed his crotch, rolling off Alanna in the process and ending up facedown in the dirt moaning in agony.

Lord Oppenheimer scooped Alanna out of the dirt and brushed a few moldy leaves off her shoulder, exclaiming, "I say, jolly good kick girl, jolly good!"

The tracker hissed and leapt to his feet. Thwarted once again! These damn Tortallans were protected by the very gods themselves! He barred his teeth like a savage animal and broke out in a run towards the forest, leaving an extremely stunned and confused Alanna and her slave master behind.

"Well…that was odd," Lord Oppenheimer murmured, "so…do you have my mushrooms?"

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_Carthak, Lord Penikth's manor:_

Lady Panya purred as a slave girl rubbed her back in her nice, hot, steamy bath. Ahh, this was the good life! Waited on hand and foot, day after day, given fine silken clothes, delicious home-cooked cuisine, fancy powders and perfumes and soaps—what more could a girl ask for?

Except, perhaps, some really good sex.

Lord Penikth barely touched her, knowing how fussy she was in bed ("turn out the lights! Your feet are cold! I need more blankets! …Is it in yet?") He just did enough to do his nobleman's duty and sow her with his seed, preferring to raid the kitchens and lower cities streets for fresh bed-warmers.

At the thought of her pregnancy Lady Panya frowned; she knew it was inevitable, every noble lady had to bear an heir at some point, but that didn't mean she had to like it. Mithros, her feet were starting to swell uncomfortably, she could never keep her breakfast down, and worst of all, her belly was bulging so very unattractively!

She was always careful to keep her weight down—vegetables and water always, she hadn't tasted sugar since she turned fifteen—and now look at her! A fat plump piggy, that's what she was. Mithros, her hairdresser hadn't snuck in to see her in days…it was quite worrisome. Lady Panya feared he may no longer be attracted to her in this enlarged position… She didn't care about the man personally or emotionally, but Mithros, he had the largest member this side of the River Zekoi! She'd be hard put to find a handsome young well-endowed replacement…

Or would she? As Lady Panya sunk deeper into the foamy bubbles a smile spread across her lips; what was the name of that Tortallan slave boy again?

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_Carthak, the University:_

Arram draper massaged his numb fingers as he threw another log on the fire. Mithros it got cold in his room! The southern lands were warm, but winter was fast approaching and his stone dorm room in the University left much to be desired in the way of insulation. It was a good thing he had the gift and could start fires at will without the need to dabble with that pesky flint, else he'd freeze to death for sure!

The young mage rubbed his nose thoughtfully as he contemplated the events of the past few days. He still couldn't believe he had nearly killed someone with that rogue fireball! There were a few kinks to be worked out of that spell that was for sure. Thank Mithros that slave girl with fiery red hair had been there to stop the damn thing. And what of her crazy friend, who claimed to be the bloody prince of Tortall! Arram Draper highly doubted such an impossible idea, and yet…he couldn't stop mulling over the possibility, unlikely as it was. He grew up in Tyra—in the north—and knew a thing or two about his homeland's neighbor. For instance, that the Conte line often featured coal black hair and deep sapphire blue eyes…

But surely that was just a mere coincidence? Just because a fair-skinned slave with the right hair and eye color combination claimed to be a prince didn't mean he actually was one…although, the boy certainly seemed convinced, and why would he lie about such a thing? Lord Penikth was the kind of man who would beat a slave for less.

Arram grabbed a quill and dipped it in a pot of dark ink; mayhap he'd write to his old friend Rispah, a city lass he had once met on his travels and actually managed to keep in touch with, and see what was happening in Tortall this time of year…

…**Saphron…**

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_A/N_: Omgosh guys, everything is slowly building more and more…it's all going to come together in a ridiculously exciting way, tehe! Just you wait and see :D 

_Amanita _mushrooms are HIGHLY poisonous. Don't eat them ever lol. Hmm, now why would Lord Oppy need poisonous mushrooms? You tell me ;)

Oh, but right, do you think the sexual references require an increase in rating? Is anyone offended by anything? Just let me know... but fair warning, it's only going to get more…graphic isn't the right word, but um, things _will_ heat up. So if reading about sex (yeah, I said it, so what? Lol) makes you uncomfortable, stop reading this right now. Okie. See you soon!

PS: Who wants to be the glorious and prestigous **review number 100** lol? Aww, I heart you r&r's! Oldies, newbies, all reviewers welcome here!


	16. Chapter 16 The Regicide

**Homeward Bound: An Alternate Version of _In the Hands of the Goddess_**

**By Saphron**

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_A/N:_ Sorry I forgot the quote last time…oh well. More today. Whose seen Harry Potter? I went last night, it was so good:D

_Personal notes_: WILL NOW BE MOVED TO THE BOTTOM OF THE PAGE. Thus, you can skip it more easily if you like.

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**Chapter 16 – The Regicide**

"_I cannot be indifferent to the assassination of a member of my profession, We should be obliged to shut up business if we, the Kings, were to consider the assassination of Kings as of no consequence at all."_

**-- King Edward VII**

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_Tortall, the Dancing Dove_:

"I have some interestin' news for ya, your majesty," Rispah motioned to George, calling him over from where he sat glued to his chair in dejection.

George sighed and took another gulp from his whiskey glass. What was it now, some trivial detail about the latest raid? Who cared about rubies and diamonds…his real treasure was gone forever. Lost in battle, Mirthros knew where…

He didn't really feel like carrying on as the King of Thieves, but the only way out of the position was death, and he wasn't ready to face the Black God yet, even with Alanna gone forever. No, he'd continue his mediocre existence as the Rogue, at least for the time being; it was the better of the two options by far.

"Yes, Rispah? If it's about th' leather horse tack we acquired, talk t' Stephan 'bout it, he'll find a good market for 'em."

Rispah positively beamed, knowing how pleased her King would be to hear what she had to say, "actually Georgie, it's 'bout your little friend, Squire Alan. Word from an ol' buddy 'o mine in th' South says there's some black-haired, blue-eyed young thing claiming t'be th' Prince 'imself. An' where th' Prince is, surely his squire can't be far behind?"

The effect this news had on George was instantaneous; the Rogue literally _leaped_ out of his chair with a whoop, grabbed Rispah in a bear hug, twirled her around about ten times, and set her down with a big hearty laugh. The entire Dancing Dove stopped to stare at their King, who had apparently gone quite mad. Or wait, not crazy, merely…happy? Could this be, George Cooper, most depressed man this side of the Drell River, _happy_?

"Solom, drinks fer everyone, on me!" George roared, as the inn's patrons cheered merrily, delighted at the prospect of free booze. "We're havin' a right little party t'night!"

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_Carthak, Lord Oppenheimer's Tower_: 

Alanna didn't know who that strange man was who attacked her, but she didn't like it, not one bit. Lord Oppenheimer seemed surprisingly concerned as well, which Alanna assumed was because he had gone to all this trouble to acquire a gifted slave and didn't want to lose her. Alanna's death would have been especially inconvienant during such a crucial part of his experiment, which grew bigger and more powerful by the day. It seemed like every hour Alanna felt the earth tremble slightly as Lord Penikth sucked the magic from the air and crammed it into his work. She had a lot of work to do fetching him more supplies, but he ordered his other slaves, Patrick and Binnie, to accompany her whenever she left the Tower, which wasn't often in light of the recent murder attempt--it wasn't as if the old pair offered much in the way of protection. _What could they possibly do? _Alanna wondered increduously, _play the fiddle and do a little jig to scare my attacker off? Please!_

Instead, Lord Oppenheimer often accompanied her personally on her jaunts around the forest gathering the elusive _amanita_ mushrooms, which only grew near fresh water sources and preferred to bloom during odd cycles of the daylight hours. To Alanna's surprise, far from the constraints of strict social court etiquette, she found herself actually chatting with the man quite comfortably. She told him childhood stories of dunking her twin brother in the duck pond and described what Corus looked like with all its marketplace vendors and temple priests wandering the streets. He in turn told her about his training days at the University, which only ended a few years ago, and how much he enjoyed working on archaic magic spells in the comfort of his isolated country home. He often used advanced technical magic speak only a fellow mage could possibly decipher, but Alanna could note the enthusiasm he exuded within every word. Yes, this sorcerer was the spitting image of dear brother Thom, which made her feel oddly sad and comforted at the same time.

Sometimes their conversation was so light-hearted and friendly, Alanna forgot that he was her master and she a mere slave! She'd find herself forgetting to tag the "my lord" on the ender of her sentences, bow when entering and exiting a room, and only speak when spoken to. Sometimes she'd even occasionally argue with him about certain social and political philosophies—such as the barbaric nature of slavery.

"But it's cruel!" Alanna protested, waving her hands animatedly as she tried to explain her point, "it deprives people of their basic right to freedom, to life, to happiness itself!"

"Yet where would we be without slaves?" Lord Oppenheimer countered, pointing to a blooming patch of _amanita_ mushrooms just waiting to be plucked, "there would be no one to till our soil, sow our fields, produce the food this nation depends on. People would starve without slaves."

"No they wouldn't," Alanna argued, "people would simply _hire_ farm workers, no slavery necessary."

"Yes but that costs money, lots of money."

"So?" She spat acidly, trying to fight her rising temper.

"So, we are an economic system, our state is established to grow and produce, such is the nature of technological innovation, individual entrepreneurship, increases in social welfare. The system thrives on the backbone of slavery and it simply can not do with out, as high and lofty as your ideals may be. Oh! Grab those poppy flowers will you? I need them for my experiment."

They continued such debates numerous times on their little forest adventures, never once running into the strange man who had attacked Alanna. Mayhap he learned his lesson, than when you mess with a sorcerer's slave, expect to get burned! Alanna still missed Jon and felt bitter about their separation, but in all honesty she didn't mind life in the Tower so much. When it started to get boring at times, Lord Oppenheimer agreed to allow her to use a separated broom handle as a staff to practice her knight training (all though he thought it was just so she could learn self-defense in case that strange man attacked her again when he wasn't around.) She was sweating after merely an hour of running through her basic drills—Mithros she was out of practice! She'd need to work hard to regain her former glory as one of Tortall's best fencers—she wanted Jon to be proud of his unusual choice of a squire….that is, if she ever saw him again.

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_Tortall, the palace_: 

"Douglas! Douglas where are you?" Gary called to the empty room, a hint of annoyance tingeing his voice. Where was his bloody squire off to now? He wanted to get his and Raoul's horses saddled by noon so they could ride to the city and see George.

"Maybe he's with Geoffry in the training yards?" Raoul suggested. Gary nodded and the two headed towards the outdoor fencing courts, where, mercifully, they saw both their squires standing huddled together, heads bowed in whispered conversation.

"There you are Douglas! I've been looking for you everywh—Mithros! What's wrong boy, your face is white as father Winter's himself!"

Douglas was indeed pale and trembling, as if he had just seen a ghost—or worse. "H-haven't you heard the news m'lord?" the boy asked his overlord cautiously.

"No, what news?" Gary snapped, growing impatient. What was going on here? He hated being out of the loop.

"I-it's the King sir," Geoffry responded, filling in for a wobbly Douglas. "He's—he's dead."

"_Dead!"_ Gary and Raoul both yelped at the same time.

"Yes sir, the guards just found him f-face down in the mud, right below the northernmost tower. They say he—they say he jumped, m'lord."

Gary's face turned deathly pale, "He_ jumped_?"

"We all knew he was upset about Prince Jonathan's disappearance," Raoul whispered, his face aghast, "but I didn't think…no one would have thought…"

Suddenly Gary's eyes flashed, "does the Queen know yet?"

"I dunno, m'lord."

"Douglas, get my father and Sir Myles—and hurry! This is an emergency!"

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Roger hid the grin the threatened to break free behind his curled mustache. It had been so easy to kill the King and make it look a suicide! Everyone knew how distraught Roald was about the disappearance of his one and only precious son Jonathan, and the monarch had made it expressly clear that he blamed himself for the whole disastrous affair—why had he been so stupid as to send the country's only heir into battle? There were plenty of knights to defend Tortall, they would survive with one less! But he had just wanted to give Jonathan a little field experience, that's all…he thought he'd be safe under Duke Roger's care… 

Roger cackled at Roald's idiocy. His plan was brilliant, simply brilliant! No one would ever suspect that he had lured the King to the topmost tower tier with a false note penned in his own hand, claiming that he had found the Prince in Carthak and instructing Roald to meet him atop the northernmost tower, where they would have "privacy" to "discuss the matter." The King of course, hastened to the tower top as fast as his little legs would carry him, and it was a simple matter for Roger to tip the overly excited man over the balcony rail and watch him plummet two hundred feet to the cold, hard ground…poor, poor, unsuspecting Roald, he never knew what hit him. But at least he was happy in his last moments of life, knowing his son was still alive. Little consolation considering he died mere seconds after he found out this joyous news, but still. At least Roger gave him this last glimmering moment of happiness…

Ah, and now only the feeble sickly Queen was left. It would be too odd if she died so soon after her husband, but Roger could wait and bid his time. After all, he'd been waiting for eighteen long years, what was a few more weeks compared to that?

…**Saphron…**

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_A/N:_ Lalala…I killed the King! Mwahahaha :coughs: Ok, review please?

Oh, and I know no Jon in this ch., but there just wasn't enough room…next chapter is allll Jonny-boy though, rest assured. Just to give you a hint:

_**Chapter 17 – Mrs. Robinson **_

_Carthak, Lord Penikth's Manor:_

_Jon knocked hesitantly on Lord Penikth's door, wondering why he had been summoned by messenger to the room. He had been finishing up an extremely boring letter from Lord Penikth addressed to his majesty the emperor, grandly accepting and RSVPing to the royal midwinter ball, when a young freckled boy insisted he come to the master's personal chambers…_

Tehe. -:cackles:-

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ALL YOU REVIEWES ROCK MY SOCKS OFF! 17 last chapter? OMGOSH: D 

_Personal notes_:

_CF_: Yay, you're lucky number review 100:D England rules, I'm jealous you get to live there…

_CK:_ Dude mushrooms are delicious lol I love 'em. What's maplestory? totally confused Congrats on cross-country! Huzzah! And thawing out on radiators? You're so British, I love it! Ever read Angus, Thongs, and Full Frontal Snogging? You so remind me of Georgia. Anyway, yes, Penikth still has Lightening (oh no!) Hopefully Alanna will be able to get it back…

_TheBrassPotatoe_: Why, thank you very much, I'm glad you're enjoying the story so far! And the insight into the characters thoughts, that's a little tricky but I try and incorporate it in. I don't get this confusing rating system either lol, but oh well, I figure if people are offended then they just won't read it! I'm glad you are though :)

_Jules_: -takes a bow- Thanks Jules m'dear.

_SG: _Hahaha Alanna will be sooo pissed yes… Good! I'm glad this thing isn't cliché or predictable! Yes!

_QAoC:_ They'll be reunited fairly soon, in a few chappies, no worries, no worries…

_WitchyMage_: That was a great idea to move personal notes to the bottom! As you can see, I followed your advice lol. Ah well, I sort of bombed my math midterm, but whatever, I'm an English major, so who cares? Lol. Mithros knows why my asterisk don't show up…oh well, deshes it is then. Ha! I'm glad you picked up on my sometime subtle sense of humor! That mushroom comment of Lord Oppy's was meant to be a bit of sly humor, so I'm glad someone noticed it lol. Lord O. is kinda eccentric, you may have noticed. I'd die without sugar too! Yeesh, that's why I put that stuff in there (fics relate to author's lives y'know…) Poor Jon indeed… Haha mysteries ARE fun, especially when you see the plot all come together. It's ok! I like long reviews! Actually, I love them, so there, ha. :)

_LKoH:_ Aww s'ok don't worry about being 100 lol, maybe you can be 125, or 150 if we get that far, or who knows? Mayhap even #200! (-faints just thinking about it-) . Hahaha it's so true, we Uni kids (as you British folk call 'em, we just say "college students" in America) are ALWAYS broke. I totally tied that in (y'know, fics relate to author's lives…) Yay for physics! Er, even if it wasn't the real thing (how annoying!) Good luck on yoru half-caste essay, I hope it goes all right. And cool! Yay for long reviews!

_C&L:_ Haha I know, Lady Panya wants Jon to be a manwhore -snickers- Thanks for calling me brilliant, I'll try and live up to it :)

_Cathrun_: Heya! Nice to see a new name 'round these parts, glad you're likin' the show!

_Evelyn_: Sorry 'bout 100, but don't sweat it, mayhap you could be 125, or 150, or even…200! (-faints just thinking about it-) . Yes I luuuurve to drag things out…cliffy after cliffy, I know, I'm so evil like that. Can't help it though! Haha thank you, I'm glad I have you and your slapping silly skills on my side lol. Enjoy!

_LK_: Thank you! Tracker dude has been following J&A since day 1, I keep him around to spice things up a little y'know. I know will Lady P. and Jon ACTUALLY do the deed? We shall see! (Not in this chapter obviously, but in the next one…)

_xXfiRePhoEnixXx_: Lol! Ok!

_Cyanide Kiss_: First of all, I love your pen name. Second of all, I'm glad you think this thing is interesting. You raise some good questions I'd be happy to answer. It doesn't matter that Jon has the gift because Lord Penikth is unwilling to sell him because Jon is his favorite scribe. Lord Oppenheimer was totally willing to buy Jon, if only to shut Alanna up lol, but Lord Penikth wouldn't sell. Poor Jon…thus, they were separated. About 4 months give or take has passed since the Tusaine War, since –and correct me if I'm wrong—the war started over the summer, and it's now around late fall/early winter, like perhaps November-ish. I hope that helps!'

_On top of cloud 9_: Thanks a bunch! I'm so glad to see a new name 'round these here parts .

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**MORE TO COME...**  



	17. Chapter 17 Mrs Robinson

**Homeward Bound: An Alternate Version of _In the Hands of the Goddess_**

**By Saphron**

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_A/N:_ You probably don't know this (er, not that I do from personal experience lol), but pregnant women, in their drastically fluctuating hormonal states, often feel a bit randy. It actually depends on the woman and the time of her pregnancy, but yeah. I know it probably seems odd, but there you go, the facts of life. She's not HUGE yet, I think she's probably midway through her second trimester-ish…so like, you can tell she's probably pregnant, but it's not like she can't fit through doorways or whatever. Just FYI lol.

**QUESTION: ** How do you spell Duke Baird? (The healer guy.) Is that it? As I've lamented before, I don't have my books with me…

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**Chapter 17 – Mrs. Robinson**

"_After thirty, a body has a mind of its own."_

-- Bette Milder

_"Thirty-five is a very attractive age. London society is full of women of the very highest birth who have, of their own free choice, remained thirty-five for years." _

-- Oscar Wilde, _A Woman of No Importance, 1893_

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_Carthak, Lord Penikth's Manor:_

Jon knocked hesitantly on Lord Penikth's door, wondering why he had been summoned by messenger to the room. He had been finishing up an extremely boring letter from Lord Penikth addressed to his majesty the emperor, grandly accepting and RSVPing to the royal midwinter ball, when a young freckled boy insisted he come to the master's personal chambers. Perhaps Lord Penikth had written to Tortall and realized the gross error of his judgment after all? Yes, that must be it, Jon decided, a slight skip in his step at the thought…they finally believed he was a prince! Thank Mithros, because he was getting tired of Carthak, he wanted to go home, see his family, dance at a few balls with a few court beauties, live the good life again…

"You may enter," called a sweet honey-dipped voice that most certainly did _not_ belong to Lord Penikth.

Jon frowned in confusion, "I'm sorry to disturb you m'lady, I was told to come here by a messenger, I assumed Lord Penikth was waiting…"

"Oh no, I was the one who called for you," Lady Panya answered lightly, patting the sheets next to her, "won't you come in and have a seat?"

"Er…sure," Jon muttered, closing the door behind him and taking a few cautious steps towards the giant bed, although he declined to sit next to her—that would be highly inappropriate for a slave of Carthak!

"I noticed you the other day when you made that—charming—declaration," she said smoothly, clapping her hands together in exclamation, "my, my, you certainly have a gift for dramatic flare! You almost even had me convinced!"

Jon opened his mouth to reply that he really _was_ a prince but closed it instead, curious to see where this was going. The puzzled expression he wore on his face made Lady Panya tinkle with laughter, "what was your name again darling?"

"Er, Jonathan, Jonathan of Conte, m'lady," Jon said with a bow. When Lady Panya held out her hand daintily he did what thirteen years of court etiquette had drilled into his brain and kissed it. Mithros, he felt like he was at a ball in Tortall, not a bedroom in Carthak!

"It's a pleasure," the woman murmured, lowered eyes flickering behind fluttering eyelashes, "now Jon dear—may I call you Jon? Oh good, well you see…you're in luck, because I have a new…position…for you in this household."

"Yes m'lady?" Jon murmured demurely, wondering what it could possibly be. He knew Alanna—he fought the urge to wince at the thought of her—used to dress and pamper Lady Panya, and tell her of all the latest fashion fads in Tortall (most of which she made up for her own amusement, like feathered earrings. Jon didn't stop laughing over that one for a week.) But he was a boy…surely Lady Panya didn't expect him to fulfill Alanna's old role? As if he knew about breastbands or corsets!

Lady Panya wiggled her finger, beckoning him closer. He scooted forwards a few inches. Not satisfied with the distance he crossed, she wiggled her finger again. Again, Jon scooched a few inches forwards. One more round of finger wiggling did the trick. Lady Panya smiled seductively and wrapped her slender bejeweled hand around Joanathan's neck, slowly lowering his face down to where she sat perched on the edge of the bed. "Kiss me," she murmured hungrily, closing her eyes expectantly.

Jon gasped in shock and attempted to jerk out of her grasp, but her tight hold on his neck just made him lose his balance and stumble forwards, awkwardly landing sprawled out atop of her. Lady Panya, completely misinterpreting his actions, grinned lasciviously. "Oh, you naughty boy!" she cried, "you move so quickly!" She wrapped her arms around a bewildered Jonathan and drew him in tighter for a deeper embrace, nearly winding him in the process. Jon actually squeaked, he was so surprised and oxygen-deprived.

Fortunately— or perhaps unfortunately, depending on how you look at it—a loud voice belled down the hall, "Slave! Sl-a-a-a-ve! Where are you, you damn scribe? Is my letter done yet?"

"Shit!" Lady Panya yelped as she pushed Jonathan away with a rough shove. Her husband was coming!

"Quick, under the bed!" she hissed, shoving Jon to the floor and pointing under the swaths of blankets draped over the edge of the bed. Without stopping to think, Jon scrambled beneath them, ducking below the dusty bed just as Lord Penikth entered the room.

"Panya have you seen my scribe slave anywhere? I left to go the privy and when I returned the damned boy had just disappeared halfway through a sentence. It was a particularly good sentence too, I was just writing to the Emperor to tell him how delighted I am to have received his midwinter ball invitation and—oh never mind, he's not here is he?"

Lady Panya laughed a little too loudly, "why whatever ever do you mean dear? There's no slave in here! Do you see a slave? I don't see a slave…no, no, ever since you sold my Tortallan girl I've been woefully slaveless, aheh."

"Damn! I could have sworn that slave kid with all the freckles told me he was here, dirty rotten little liar, I outta have his hide…" Lord Penikth muttered, lost on a tangent about 'paying what you get for' and how useless his slaves were. Lady Panya made sympathetic clucking noises Jon assumed were accompanied by empathetic nods of the head, and thanked his lucky gods for the crawlspace beneath the bed. Mithros! It would not be good to be caught red-handed—or should he say, red-lipped?—kissing the lord's pregnant wife! Not that he had been the one to initiate the kissing, but still. He highly doubted that Lady Panya, if caught, would fess up to her seductive ways. More likely he'd be accused of rape and stoned to death, or some other equally barbaric Carthaki punishment.

A dusty mothtlball rolled by Jon's nose, causing his eyes to swell with the need to sneeze. No! He couldn't give away his position! He held his breath and focused all his energy on not sneezing, but his concentration slipped a little when he heard Alanna's name mentioned.

"Right, sorry about selling your Tortallan girl Alanna, but it was just too good a deal to pass up. Lord Oppenheimer was willing to pay twice as much as I bought her for, the old fool! Lord knows what he wants with her, he's known for holing himself up in that tower at his fief Crow's Lane, mayhap his nights have been a little lonely…the girl would make a nice addition to his bedroom…" Lord Penikth chuckled at his own raunchy joke, but Jonathan fought the urge to sneeze _and_ be sick at the same time...he had never considered the possibility that Alanna might be used as a, as a, _bed warmer_! When they had first been captured the slave traders had suggested just such a thing, and probably would have jumped at the chance to throw her in the sack if they hadn't been so rushed for time, but Jon hadn't thought much about the possibility since it first came up. He knew she could handle herself against most ordinary men, but a powerful sorcerer, living alone deep in the heartlands of Carthak? The thought was agonizingly worrisome.

"It's all right dear," Lady Panya simpered, "I'm sure I'll find an even better replacement..."

Only Jon knew what secret innuendos her words masked.

"Now where did that damn slave scribe go? He better not have tried to escape again!"

"Oh, I'm sure he can't have gone far," Lady Panya waved the thought away dismissively, secretly smiling at her own cleverness. Her husband was such a dolt! He had no idea she was sleeping with half the city whenever his back was turned. Well, it was only reasonable…after all, a woman had needs. Important needs, that fat idiot husbands couldn't always meet.

"Maybe he's in the kitchens, nicking food or something," Lord Penikth grumbled, ambling out of the room with a frown, still muttering about his slaves' propensity to steal from him and waste his time and money, the useless things…

Jonathan closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief, but quickly sucked the air back in his lungs sharply when an upside down head appeared in front of him. "You can come out now," Lady Panya called down, straightening up and adjusting her appearance. Maybe she shouldn't lean down anymore, it had a tendency to mess with her lovely straightened hair.

Jon awkwardly slithered out from underneath the bed, not daring to look Lady Panya in the face. His cheeks were tinged with red—which was odd for the Crown Prince of Tortall, known throughout the land as a smooth fast-talking lady-killer—he could never remember feeling so distinctly embarrassed and self-conscious in his life!

Lady Panya sighed and stretched her arms as she yawned, "well my dear, it looks like today's session was cut a little short, but come again tomorrow and we can finish where we left off. You better go find my husband before he gets even madder and starts chucking things at the slaves. I hate it when he does that, last time he destroyed an extremely valuable lamp shade."

Jon was only too happy to leave! With a hasty bow he scurried out the door, relieved to be out of Lady Panya's overwhelming presence. Lord Penikth chastised him for disappearing by, as the lady predicated, throwing a pewter gravy dish at his head, but Jon took no heed of the blow. He had bigger things to worry about, like the fact that the pregnant mistress of the house was trying to seduce him…

_By the Black God_, Jon thought exasperatedly, _these Carthaki's are obsessed with sleeping with their slaves! What in Mithros' name am I going to do now?_

…**..Saphron…..**

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_A/N_: Woo! Close call! Jon came THIS close to being Lady P.'s man-whore…LOL times a million. I'm snickering in my boots right now kids. (By the way, I bet you all thought Alanna would be the one to be approached by a horny Carthaki hmm? Well you know me, I don't like to be predictable…keep you kids on your toes and whatnot…)

Do you all get the pop culture reference in the chapter title "Mrs. Robinson"? Y'know, like the classic Beatles song, "here's to you, Mrs. Robinson, Jesus loves you more than you will know…" Well for those of you who don't know, Mrs. Robinson is the archetype of the older woman who seduces the young teenage boy. In this fic, Lady Panya is somewhere in her thirties and Jon is about nineteen, sooo…you can now see the allusion. Cheers then.

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_Personal notes_: -- Switch to **BOLD**, yay or nay?  


**xXfiRePhoEnixXx:** Good I'm glad you still like it even though I offed the King lol.

**Kelsey**: Jon and Alanna will get reunited in about...oh, 5-10 chapters. I know, seems like forever! But once they DO get back together, oh Mithros, hold onto your horses, because the rating is gonna skyrocket lol. - Oh and yeah I know the movies totally leave out the good bits, HP V, where was Spew? Who knows! Ack! Oh wellio...

**WM**: Hahaha I know, math isn't completely useless...but oh well! You can't see HP V till Dec.? (!) You poor thing! Er, uh, read HP fanfiction to sustain you during the inturrum? . Yes George was VERY happy to hear Alanna is probably still alive...although he probably will be less pleased when he sees she's developed a taste for the Princling, tehe. Lord Oppy is designed to be generally fairly decent. It's not that he's particularly kind-hearted (he doesn't like, go around adopting orphans and whatnot) it's just like he lacks the ability to be unecesarily cruel, he's too busy being a powerful sorceror lol. Roger is such a meanie! Gah! Haha you'll see what happens with the thrown...LOL! I love the dancing around, trips, and blushes thing, that is so so SO me...I can't walk straight sober, you don't even wanna know how bad I was last night -giggles- yay forklutzes (klutz is actualyl a yiddish word, true story.)

**Jules:** Yup, George has officially reentered the building, thankyouverymuch. He's gonna have a bigger role in subsequent chappies as well...

**Cloud:** Woa cool! I think it's nifty you and all your friends read the same fic (esp. when it's mine!) Hope you liked this chapter as much as the last one :)

**Cathrun**: Wellll I couldn't just tell you now could I? That would spoil the surprise lol! But I WILL tell you that they don't meet at Lord Penikth's manor, and they DO meet when Alanna is doing something quite unusual... er, hope that helps? Lol

**QAoC:** I knooow Jon will have been through this whole ordeal and then he'll come home and find his father dead! -sobs for poor jon- Good thing Alanna will be there to comfort him...er, did I just say that aloud? -innocent look-

**LK:** Thanks! I'm a-keepin' on a-writin'

**CK**: Lol thank you! I try and be unpredictable, what can I say. (Love the "dun dun dun" btw) Harry had to act underwater? Wowzers! The boy is learning... yes you should be proud lol! Brits rule, you guys get red phonebooths and double-decker buses (ooher...nifty!)

**LKoH:** Nooo you need to see it! It's SO GOOD! They did get rid of SPEW though :-/ no more Winky then... did your essay go all right? Well, not all night, but prettylate (like 2 am) keep in mind though that the sleeping patterns of your typical college student are highly irregular. Like last night, I went to bed at 4:30 am. Heh. Wee!

**NWM**: Hehe! George WILL play quite the exciting role in future chapters...exciting entrance is not a bad guess -

**Piglet**: Haha yay! I'm so glad you pick up on my humor! Jolly is just such a fun word...anyway, I think you're right about the rating, I may have to increase it, we shall see... Wow that's a lot of UK blood in ye lass! I'm part Polish too, are you Jewish as well? Hmm, if you're getting confused maybe other people are too and I should provide some more context or background or an A/N or something...I'll keep that in mind, thanks. I'm a huge fan of HP (of course!) and I liked the movie quite a bit. It's sad they left out SPEW (booo) but the camera work with the new directly is much better, and the acting has improved as well (esp. Hermione, she finally got it down) You'll see who the new ruler is, there will be quite a bit more on Tortall in future chapters. Lord Oppy is somewhere in his mid-twenties, he's fairly young, unlike Lord Penikth who is like...89. Not really, he's probably more like 45ish, but still lol. And yes you can certainly get more Jon POV/Gary and Raoul! Actually, the next chappie is allll G&R...and, here's a big secret, I'm kinda considering the faintest hint of G&R slash (oO) Scandalous, I know. I'm not sure yet, but given their situation on the b-- whoops! I've said too much all ready, you'll just hafta see -

**The BP:** Oh good, I'm glad it makes sense that Alanna's sorta settling in, I mean she's obviously still upset about being seperated fromJon but she can't pine forever...she needs to get her act together, and do something productive, like staff training. I was worried people would think that odd though, so I'm glad it makes sense to you!

**Evelyn**: 150 would be nifty, we'll see about 200 though - -crosses fingers- Sorry I know it's a bit drawn out, but at least I update quickly, if it was like chappie a week I expect people would riot lol! (Or er, just not read the fic) Mayhap last chappie wasn't the best (it's kind of hard for me to be objective in judging lol) but hopefully you liked this one a bit more. And no no, it won't reach chapter 80 rest assured, the MOST it would reach would be like, 30, but that's still a HUGE stretch lol. Haha anyway, thanks as always for the review, cheers!


	18. Chapter 18 Jon Fears for his Manhood

**Homeward Bound: An Alternate Version of _In the Hands of the Goddess_**

**By Saphron**

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_A/N:_ Sorry it's so short…but hopefully it's entertaining :)

**Chapter 18 – Jon Fears for His Manhood**

"_In the sex-war thoughtlessness is the weapon of the male, vindictiveness of the female."_

-- Cyril Connoly,_ The Unquiet Grave, 1944_

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_Carthak, Lord Oppenheimer's Tower:_

"Alanna! Get the door will you?" Lord Oppenheimer called from behind a towering bookshelf. He popped his disheveled head round the edge, nodding to a sweating Alanna, who was just starting her morning sword drills. Frustrated at being interrupted just when she was really getting into it, she threw down her broom handle with a humph, nearly whacking Binnie on the head. The old woman had been eagerly watching Alanna's practice sessions all week, and yesterday even timidly asked the knight-in-training to show her how to do that "neat roll 'n tumble trick" Alanna seemed to have mastered so well. The Lioness was happy to oblige and impart her skills on others, especially a fellow woman daring to try something as unconventional as fighting, but at the moment she was being called upon to fetch the doorbell. Such was the job of a lowly slave.

"Yes?" Alanna snapped, drawing open the large oak door to reveal a short, finely dressed man outfitted in the royal colors. Alanna knew it must be important; Lord Oppenheimer wasn't used to getting many visitors at Crow's Lane.

"An invitation from his highness, the great and glorious Emperor of Carthak, may he live forever, has arrived for one Sir Oppenheimer, lord of fief Crow's Lane," declared a royal messenger snootily, giving Alanna the once over. With a blush she realized she was covered in sweat and probably didn't look her best, but honestly, was that any reason for the snobby attitude?

"I'll take it," she practically growled. For a moment the royal messenger looked hesitant, like he didn't trust the fierce tousled girl standing before him, but in the end he handed the parchment over, bowing stiffly and turning promptly on his heel. Alanna shut the door with a smart slap and trekked upstairs, even more livid than she was five minutes ago. She just hated snobby nobles!

She threw the parchment over Lord Oppenheimer's bookshelf, and resolutely picked up her broom handle. It was time to get down to some serious training.

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_Tortall:_

Douglas came skidding to a halt before he ran into his knight master, red-faced and panting heavily. Duke Gareth of Naxen the elder and Sir Myles were not far behind, each man wearing a dark frown.

"We've all ready heard what happened," Duke Gareth of Naxen said heavily, leaning on bended knees to try and catch his breath. "But if you boys know all ready, it must be all over the palace by now. There will be chaos in the streets if we don't do something quickly."

"I'm more worried about the Queen," Gary the younger said grimly. "She's all ready distraught over Jonathan…" _and mayhap might follow the king._ Gary left the unspoken thought hang heavily in the air.

His father quickly nodded in acquiescence, "I'll go get Duke Baird, the two of us will make sure she's all right. Gary, Raoul, take your squires and inform the other knights, tell everyone to make sure the people of Corus stay calm and don't riot or anything crazy like that—people are known for going a little mad when their King suddenly decides to kill himself. It makes them nervous."

The knights and their squires nodded and rushed off, eager to help. Duke Gareth put a firm hand on Myles shoulder, and looked the older man directly in the eye, "Myles, I'm sorry to assign this task to you, but I couldn't ask one of the boys to do it, it'd just be too cruel. I need you to go take care of the…the body. Cover it, make sure—make sure no one desecrates the memory of our King," Gareth said softly. Myles nodded grimly and began walking swiftly towards the northernmost tower. Anyone who dared to touch the fallen Roald would have a very angry knight to face.

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_Carthak, Lord Penikth's Manor:_

Jon plodded into the kitchen, hoping he could score a glass of milk to calm his nerves. He had been hiding from Lady Panya all day, ever since her morning seduction attempt, and consequentially he found himself tense and on edge, jumping at the slightest noise. Mayhap some milk would help.

He entered to find Old Marm, the head of the women slaves, stirring a pot of broiling matzo ball soup, a common dish among the Carthaki underclass. Alanna had never developed a taste for it, but Jon liked the strange slave food with its thick bread-like texture. He made an obvious show of snifffing the air, forcing a hearty chuckle out of the old slave woman.

"Don't-ah give me none 'o that now-ah boy!" Old Marm clucked, shooing Jon away with a wave of her apron, "this 'ere soup is fer-ah supper, yeh hear?"

Jon pouted, looking for all the world like a lost hungry orphan, but Old Marm didn't budge. Jon sighed and plopped onto a stool, "well can I at least have a glass of milk then? I've had a rough day."

Old Marm nodded and fetched him the milk jug, clucking sympathetically, "aye, I know-ah all about yer-ah rough day."

Jon almost spilled his milk in surprise, "er, you do?" He asked in wonder.

Old Marm shot him an apprising look, "lad, haven't yeh learned-ah by now? The slaves always know-ah _everything_."

"Oh," Jon blinked. Suddenly the implication of what Old Marm had said sunk in and he blushed fiercely—everyone in the manor knew Lady Panya wanted to bed him! How _embarrassing!_

Seeing the blush creep over Jon's aghast face, Old Marm chuckled again, spooning a matzo ball into a bowl for him, "now, now, ye needn't stress, it's not-ah like we go-ah tellin' Lord Penikth or nuttin.' Th' ol' coot ain't-ah never got-ah any idea-ah what goes on under his-ah right very noise. An' hey, can't say I don' blame th' Lady, why if I was a few years younger I'd-ah take a crack at ye myself!"

Jon coughed loudly and would have chocked to death on his matzo ball if Old Marm hadn't given him a good solid thump on the back, knocking the protruding food out of his windpipe, "watch yerself there laddie! I don't-ah want no one-ah dyin' in me kitchen. An' speakin' o' watchin' yerself-ah, I'd-ah be careful if I was you…Lady Panya's boy toys have a tendency t' end up in a right spot o' trouble."

Jon frowned, "what do you mean?" He muttered, finally able to breathe again thanks to Old Marm's solid whack.

"Well…before 'er hairdresser, th' last-ah lad o' hers, a slave just like yerself—oh, an' what-ah handsome young sprat he was!—Er, right, well, he-ah made th' mistake of tellin' th' Lady he weren't no more-ah interested in her, er, favors, an' well…he's regretted it ever since…"

"Why?" whispered a fearful Jon, clutching his empty bowl in suspense.

Old Marm sighed, "she snipped 'is trouser snake right off, she did. Oy! Boy! Whatcha doin-ah on th' floor? Mithros, the lad just passed out cold!"

…**Saphon…**

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_A/N_: -gasps- Poor Jon! Eeep, what a fate! He'll have to be careful to avoid that one… Anyhoozle. Reviews? Yes?

Btw, Carthak (is like) Eygpt, Slaves (are like) Jews, matzo ball soup is Jew food. Get the connection peeps? I'm Jewish, I like to tie in elements of my life. Anyway. Matzo ball soup, yum, yum…(speaking of my people once being enslaved, anyone see _Family Guy _Sunday night? )

_**Personal Notes:**_

**QAoC: **Sorry there was no George in this one! Just not enough room I'm afraid. But never fear, the entirety of chapter 20 (not the next one, but the next) takes place at the Dancing Dove, if you can wait that long lol.

**WM:** Ah, I forgot Duke B. was from Queenscove! That's excellent knowledge, I'll surely use that bit of knowledge there. Haha yeah I know Jon barely held in, what strength of will the boy has. George will be in chapter 20 and he will be quite…er, not in his normal state of mind, we shall say. Tehe. Slowly but surely the Tortall subplot is developing, next chappie is entitled "Clever Myles Finds a Clue" sooo…thanks for telling me to take my time! Everyone's always like hurry up and update! And I'm like eep! I'm trying people! Lol. I mean I appreciate it's just because people are interested in this fic, but it's nice to breathe a little between chapters too lol.

**Jules:** Jon's fate will be revealed in due time –wink wink-

**LKoH:** Haha ok good, glad I spelled it right, I wanted to make sure. I got all embarrassed when I realized I had spelt "Raoul" wrong too, so don't worry! It happens to us all. I like the new bold too, I think it's easier to read. Haha oh my a coffee addict I see! Woah, fun addiction lol…

**CK:** Yep that's the tune it's an oldie but goodie classic song. They're getting rid of the red phone booths! NOOOO! Those things were so spiffy! Sadness :( Take a picture of one before they all disappear…

**CF:** Haha thanks I try to update quickly, it's the least I can do these chapters aren't THAT long after all. Yep that's the infamous Mrs. Robinson story lol, oh the things you learned reading fanfics…

**NWM**: Sorry no George in this one, or the next, but ALL of chapter 20 takes place at the Dancing Dove and George is featured there quite er…not in his normal state of mind lol. And after that he plays an even bigger role, so fear not :) Thanks for letting me know I got Duke B.'s name right!

**KoT**: The reason for "Mrs. Robinson" is in the A/N, but in case you missed it, here's the author's note from last chapter: "Do you all get the pop culture reference in the chapter title "Mrs. Robinson"? Y'know, like the classic Beatles song, "here's to you, Mrs. Robinson, Jesus loves you more than you will know…" Well for those of you who don't know, Mrs. Robinson is the archetype of the older woman who seduces the young teenage boy. In this fic, Lady Panya is somewhere in her thirties and Jon is about nineteen, sooo…you can now see the allusion. Cheers then." Hope that helps!

**SG:** Thanks SG lol, poor Jon indeed…

**Piglet**: Ah glad you're amused! Excellent lol. OMG I know, I was totally thinking huh? H/H, not H/R, what's going on here? She's all hugging him and making goo goo eyes at Harry I swear…eh, but at least she can act now, that's something. I think you're right, the bold is much easier to read, the bold shall stay. I like how you say "fancy" it's so British, we say "like" in America but that gets confusing b/c you could "like" someone or you could "_like_-like" someone…we say we have a crush on a person too though, that usually helps clear the air. Anyhoozle…thanks for the review!

**Cloud9:** YAY! Ahh I'm so glad someone else finds the whole Jon-the-manwhore thing funny lol :D

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If you review you're guarenteed a personal note, how nifty is that? (You know you want one...)  



	19. Chapter 19 Clever Myles Finds a Clue

**Homeward Bound: An Alternate Version of _In the Hands of the Goddess_**

**By Saphron  
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_A/N:_ Sorry, another short chappie I know, but at least I post them fairly quickly…

**QUESTION**: How do you spell Sachell? Is that it? I need the names of all the named squires and pages and knights besides Gary, Raoul, Alex, Douglas, and Geoffry. Please and thank you! Readers like you (who answer my questions) make this fic better :)

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**Chapter 19 – Clever Myles Finds a Clue**

_"Somewhere, something incredible is waiting to be known." _

-- Carl Sagan

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_Carthak, Lord Oppenheimer's Tower:_

"Remind me why I'm doing this again?" Alanna scowled, not daring to look at herself in the full length mirror. She was standing on a plush stool in the middle of a seamstress's workroom, wearing—of all things!—a _ball gown_.

"Because," Lord Oppenheimer murmured, looking bemused, "you can't attend a royal ball in rags. Besides, that indigo color looks quite becoming on you."

Alanna blushed and twisted on the spot, trying to get a look at her lace-covered rear. The seamstress clucked and poked her with a sewing needle—Alanna suspected on purpose—and righted her again. The fabric hung heavily on her slender frame, and Alanna fought the urge to panic from lack of air. If someone attacked her in this ridiculous ensemble she'd never be able to defend herself.

"Then remind me why _I _have to be your date to this bedamned thing?" Alanna asked grumpily, letting her arms droop a little lower; she was tired of holding them up for what seemed like hours on end, simply so she could get her hemline adjusted.

"Because," Lord Oppenheimer said patiently, "you're the only woman I know well enough to ask. You know I don't get many visitors."

Alanna sighed, "but it's not even _allowed_, I'm—" she shut up at the piercing look Lord Oppenheimer shot her, knowing it wouldn't do for the seamstress to know she was a mere slave. Imagine! A fief lord taking his slave to the royal ball! The gossip would be scandalous enough to spread across the town like lice on a rampage.

"I'm, um, not a very good dancer," she finished lamely, raising her arms as the seamstress waved her sewing needle threateningly. And Alanna thought swords were sharp and pointy!

Lord Oppenheimer smiled, clearly amused. Alanna scrunched up her face and stuck her tongue out him. Thank Mithros Jon wasn't here to see her humiliated like this! Goodness, he probably wouldn't stop laughing at how ridiculous she looked for weeks. Alanna sighed and she turned to face the mirror, wondering how Jon was doing. Lord Oppenheimer didn't know this, but the only reason she had agreed to be his date to the ball was that he'd have to take the collar off of her, as obviously it wouldn't do for his lady to look like a common slave. With the collar off, perhaps she stood a chance of escape! She liked Lord Oppenheimer well enough, strange and eccentric as the man was, but her loyalty was to Jonathan and she would do anything to find him again.

Her breath caught at the reflection staring back at her. She clutched the now exposed amethyst pendent dangling from her neck and gazed at the girl standing before her. She'd never be a raving beauty, but in the right dress, in the right face paint, with her unruly curls set slick and smooth, she looked, well, she looked all right, she'd venture to say.

From the expression Lord Oppenheimer wore, Alanna knew she wasn't lying to herself—she really didn't look half bad. For some reason, the thought popped into her head that she wished Jonathan could see her looking like this, but she quickly banished it, turning to hide the blush creeping to her ears.

She stepped down from the stool, remembering just in time to hold her skirts as she did, "So," she sniffed, "am I going to just stand here all day, or are you going to treat a lady to some lunch?"

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_Tortall:_

Duke Baird of Queenscove, renowned Palace healer, smoothed the hair from the Queen's glistening forehead, sighing as he packed away his herbs and tea leaves. He motioned to Gareth to tiptoe outside for a private chat.

"She'll be fine for now, but I nearly lost her—her will to live is just gone, sapped right out of her body."

Duke Gareth shook his head, "isn't there anything we can do?"

Duke Baird exhaled slowly, "well…herb tea and rest is what she needs, and to not be bothered by any stuffy nobles come to 'give their sincerest condolences.' Other than that I'd recommend…well, honestly, I'd recommend she be watched at all times, despite her protests, to make sure she doesn't—I mean, to make sure nothing happens to her…"

Duke Gareth nodded, silently ageing with the healer. He knew Duke Baird would take care of things and set up a rotating schedule for all the palace healers and initiates to guard the queen, and he'd contribute a few of the pages and squires if the duke deemed it necessary.

"We better tell Roger," Duke Gareth said grimly, "I don't think he's heard the news yet."

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Myles unclasped his cloak and draped it over the fallen King, resisting the fat teardrops that threatened to roll down his cheeks. He had liked the kind-hearted King, who never once acted cruelly or unjustly towards his people. But most of all, he had like his kind-hearted _friend_. Roald had been a good man. 

'Had been!' The past tense tugged at his heart as Myles covered the stiff twisted body, with the neck cocked at a dangerous angle, the legs clearly broken by the fall, one supple white wrist hanging out from the cloak, the only part of Roald's body now visible.

Myles frowned and squinted at the dead King's hand—what was that tan thing poking from in the cracks between his clutched fingers? Why, was it a scrap of parchment? Myles cast his gaze up quickly, but there was no one around to see him bend down and pry the paper from Roald's clenched fist. He had shoed the gawkers away moments ago, preferring to take care of Roald's body in private.

Myles pursed his lips as he read the note, his eyes narrowing suspiciously with each subsequent word:

_My dearest cousin and King,_

_I have excellent news for you! After weeks of scrying fruitlessly in search of your son, I believe I have finally located him in the heartlands of Carthak. I'd come to your chambers, but we need to discuss the matter in private, for I fear if the Prince is in foreign territory than there is a foul most enemy a foot, and I wouldn't want them to overhear our conversation. Meet me atop the northernmost tower at noon, and come alone—I don't trust the guards, they could be bribed spies. _

_Your cousin dear cousin,  
Roger_

Myles read the letter twice more, and was about to start on a third time, when he heard a sudden clamor of feet rushing towards him. He quickly pocketed the letter, tucking it deep in his tunic where it'd be safe, and turned to face the gasping crowd of onlookers, knights sent by Duke Gareth to carry the body inside the palace. Myles nodded as the men hoisted Roald into the air, wincing as the fallen King disappeared through the door. He had a lot to think about tonight.

…**Saphron…**

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_A/N_: Woah, things sure are heating up in Tortall! My oh my oh my…oh and don't worry, we get back to Jon's dilemma next chapter too, you get both prince and rogue, yay.

Next chapter:

**Chapter 20 – The Dancing Dove**

"_Yes, and it's perfect, because the Dancing Dove is due west, and mayhap we can pop by and see George."_

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**_Personal Notes: _**(might be a bit short, because I'm rushing out the door to catch a plane flight! Sorry mates!)**_  
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**NWM**: Yay George indeed! The next chapter will feature him, that I can guarentee you.

**LKoH**: Ahaha excellent idea about the tomatoes, I say pip pip. Hmm, I was actually thinking about that, in other fics they refer to her as the Lioness and I was wondering when exactly that title is bewstowed upon her...ah well, I guess I shall refer to her simply as Alanna or Jon's squire from now on, just to be on the safe side. Haha my dad said the same thing about books and spelling, but really, when you're reading a good book all you care about it the plot, not how to spell 'intrinsic' or whatever! Sheesh lol. Reading still does help a lot though, you develope greter comprehension skills, so keep it up :) Ah caffine bouncing, fun...

**CK**: I'm glad I make you happy! You make me happy, so it's a symbiotic relationship lol. Ooh snow, cool...in LA it never gets cold although I always want it to, so enjoy your snowmen and snowball fights! Our phone boxes are a rather uninspiring black/grey and possibly blue...what can I say, we Americans just aren't as cool as you Brits lol.

**CH-CS**: Most certainly not, Jon NEEDS his manhood lol...and so will Alanna :) :) -snickers-

**Jules: **I know, poor Johnny-boy...he'll live though. And soon he'll be out of Lady P.'s evil clutches...

**SG:** A metal shield! Like a man's cup/chastity belt? LOL!

**Michelle**: Eep! Sorry this one was so short :( But I'm gonna try SUPER HARD to post another chap. tommorow morning so...

**WM**: I love your long reviews...I wish I had time to respond propery, but I'm gonna hafta settle for a simple 'you are one of my favorite reviewers' since I'm so rushed, but muah darling, you rock my socks off!

**Eridani:** You know darling, I think you are absolutely positely right. I didn't even realize it...good call. Thanks so much for giving me some constructive critism, that's how writing and fics improve! (Ahh you knwo what I just realized? mayhap maybe + perhaps...brilliant!)

**Piglet: **Hahaha thank you, I wanted the chapter title to be enticing and slightly raunchy without actually saying the word 'penis' b/c that would require a raitng increase LOL. Dude it's so awesome you pick up on the subtle glints of humor I sprinkle in lol, I mean I know it's mostly an action/adventure and (slight-more in the future-) romance fic, but still. Always fun to be funny. Oh yes no one in America says fancy unless we're refering to lace or something like that ("put on some fancy clothes, we have guests coming over") Haha how ARE British boys at flirting btw? I'm curious...

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HAPPY HOLS all ye American celebrators of Thanksgiving! The whole rape and genocide of the Native people isn't exactly worth toasting to, but hey, family, food, and football is sooo...(actually I don't like football, but w/e, it works with the alliteration.) Off to catch my plane to LA, hopefully a chappie tommorow morning! XOXO 


	20. Chapter 20 The Dancing Dove's Party

**Homeward Bound: An Alternate Version of _In the Hands of the Goddess_**

**By Saphron**

**SO SORRY MATES** for the dely, but it _was_ a holiday weekend, to be fair. I spent Thanskgiving in the desert far, far away from internet access lol, so forgive me please! I haven't forsaken you! I love you all too much. As always--Enjoy!

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**Chapter 20 – The Dancing Dove's Party**

"_Like other parties of the kind, it was first silent, then talky, then argumentative, then disputatious, then unintelligible, then altogether, then inarticulate, and then drunk. When we had reached the last step of this glorious ladder, it was difficult to get down again without stumbling"_

-- George Gordon Byron

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_Tortall:_

"So Geoffrey, Sacherell, Douglass and Henrim have taken the south side, Alex has rounded up a few pages to cover the west, Sir Ollin and Sir Taylor are riding through the northern temple quarters to tell the priests, and we've got the west end, right?" Raoul asked Gary as he kicked his horse into a trot. Word was all ready spreading from rooftop to rooftop that the king was dead, and all available knights, squires, and pages were being dispersed throughout the city to manage things—not that they were actually expecting any genuine rioting, but more so their presence would reassure the people that Tortall was still strong.

"Yes, and it's perfect, because the Dancing Dove is due west, and mayhap we can pop by and see George."

Raoul frowned, "are you sure we have time?"

Gary nodded, waving to the palace guards as his horse cantered out the gate. "Yes, and he'll want to know the details first hand. I know he doesn't give a whit about our noble's court politics, but for Jon's sake…he'll want to know."

Worried citizen after worried citizen approached the two burly men as they rode through the streets, recognizing them as knights of the crown. Eager questions and outrageous gossip filled their ears as Gary and Raoul calmly reassured a distraught baker that the country was not on the brink of a civil war, and no, Roald's will did not declare a Yamani princess the new ruler of Tortall. (That didn't even make sense, but the knights explained away the irrational fears anyway.)

Finally, they emerged from the teeming tide of gossip at the doorstep of the Dancing Dove, which was surprisingly wild and raucous for the middle of the afternoon. When Gary and Raoul ducked their heads below the door they were greeted with a rousing chorus of catcalls and drunken debauchery. Solom was dishing out mugs of ale as fast as the tap would flow, pretty flowers girls were tinkling with giggles as they squirmed in patron's laps, and George was standing on a chair, glass raised high, toasting "Rispa-pah's dear ol' magey-wagey friend 'n da south."

Raoul looked askance at Gary, "er, surely they haven't heard the news yet? Why would George throw a party the day the king died?" He muttered, looking worried. His thief friend was obviously not quite in his normal state of mind. The usually depressed man was far, far too jovial.

"An' so then, then 'e says, those ain't no wee lil' grapes…those are right big ol' melons!" The inn roared as George finished his raunchy joke, looking for all the world like the merry King of Thieves. When the rogue eventually spotted the two horrified knights standing in his doorway, he slipped from his stool and hollered out, "lookee here! Itsh me favorite city buddies Gary 'n, Gary 'n, Gary 'n Rolly. Aye! Gary 'n Rolly! What brings ye 'ere Rolly?"

Raoul look mortified, but he managed to swallow his chagrin and drag the drunken rogue off his stool thrown. Gary helped escort George to his personal chambers, lightly shoving the man in a chair before hitching up his breeches to take a seat across from him.

"Aye lads, why th' long faces? Th' party 's just getting shtarted!"

Raoul shook his head, "no George, you don't understand—"

"Un'erstand? Un'erstand?" George interpreted, shaking his empty goblet under Raoul's noise, "I un'erstand perfectly! Prince Jonathan an' his darlin' squire's shtill alive!"

Gary and Raoul both gasped—could it be? Were their friends finally found?

"George! How do you know?" Gary cried, shaking the man by the shoulders, as if to knock the drink out of him. What a time to be drunk!

"Aye calm yerself lady! Rispah me lass, bless 'er heart, she got :hiccup: she got word from th' South from an' old sorcerer buddy o' 'ers that a black-haired, blue-eyed young sprat is claimin' t'be th' prince, ain't that just grand? Mithros knows what Johnny-boy is doin' way down 'n that 'ere Carthak, but who cares? He's alive! And more importantly, that means Alanna's still alive!"

"Alanna?" Gary muttered out loud.

George blushed slightly, adopting a wide-eyed "oopsie" expression, "er, I er, meant ter say Alan o'course, eh, I'm a wee bit 'ntox-'ntox-intoxicated, 'm 'fraid," he mumbled, glancing sheepishly at his toes.

Raoul shook his head, waving away George's little slip. The man's belly was, after all, a full barrel of ale, "it's not a lot to go on, but it's certainly good news. Especially in light of what happened today…"

"Eh?" George asked, quirking an eyebrow, "what eh 'appened terday?"

"That's what we came to tell you George," Gary said quietly, his tone somber, "Roald is dead. The King killed himself by jumping off the northernmost tower."

"Great Mithros' Mother!" George yelped, jumping in his chair, "what's gonna 'appen t' Tortall now?"

Raoul looked sad as he gazed out the window, "we don't know George…we just don't know."

* * *

_Carthak:_

Jon lay awake, staring at the tiny cracks and fissures that ran along the dirty yellow plastered ceiling of the slave quarters. Damp hair clung to his sweaty forehead and his breath was light and shallow. After he had passed out in the kitchen, Old Marm had thrown a bucket of water on his head and promptly ushered him out of the kitchen before he could fall into unconsciousness again. Jon had stumbled back to his room, weary and wet, and curled up in bed to ponder his options.

He supposed sleeping with Lady Panya wasn't the _worst_ punishment a man could endure—Mithros knows several others had come before him—but it most certainly was _not_ something he had any desire to do. First of all, he didn't feel the slightest bit attracted to her, even though she was rather good-looking for her age, seeing as she took great pains to maintain her appearance so well.

Second of all, she was pregnant with another's man child, bedding her was just wrong on an immoral level; if not for being the object of her infidelity to her husband, than for being the object of her unborn child's despoliation.

Thirdly, it was just plain dangerous; if caught, Lord Penikth could have his head—or worse.

Jon shuddered, remembering Old Marm's story. He'd rather die than live life as eunuch! Well, maybe not die, but somehow he knew he could _not_ carry on an even remotely normal life without his god-given manhood. For one thing, it was his duty as the future king to produce an heir, and for another, well, his _manhood_ made life much more fun and enjoyable.

The fourth and final reason, which he dared not utter aloud, was Alanna. She'd _kill_ him if she ever found out he had slept with Lady Panya! Even if it wasn't by choice, she'd probably punch him hard enough to break his liver. That was note a fate he'd like to endure, not for all the gold in Carthak.

But what could he do? Lady Panya would summon him in the morning, and if he didn't go she'd likely castrate him—literally! But if he did go…?

Jon grumbled in frustration, feeling the heat of being caught between a rock and a hard place. What was the world coming to when a Prince of Tortall had to worry about being forced into copulation! Not to mention his additional uncertainties about his missing squire and the fate of his home realm… He had never confessed his fears to Alanna, but he worried constantly about how his parents were taking the news of his disappearance, and whether the war with Tusaine had subsided. He knew his father was a good king backed by solid advisors like Uncle Gareth and Sir Myles, but still. Something disastrous could have happened, and he'd never know. Curse Lord Penikth for not believing him! Better yet, curse the slave traders who had captured him, or the Tusaine archer that had injured him, or Count Jemis for kidnapping Alanna in the first place! A thousand curses upon their heads!

Quietly Jon fumed, resisting the urge to punch his pillow and arose the suspicions of the other sleeping slaves. He fought the steaming tide of anger and regret that threatened to overwhelm him, clenching his jaw until his teeth groaned in agony. Finally he breathed calmly enough to rationalize out a plan.

_I need to get out of here_, Jon thought. _But I can't escape through stealth, the doors are too well guarded. Alanna and I tried that and failed, miserably. My Gift still hasn't returned to full strength curse it, somehow I don't think being able to palm a simple light is going to help my situation. And yet I _must_ leave this house, or else I have no chance! Lady Panya's room is like a prison…once you're in, you can never leave. So how do I get out of here?_

Jon turned on his side and shifted his gaze to the crevices coating the dusty floor. Wild escape fantasies danced through his head, but none of them seemed even remotely plausible. Leave a note claiming to have escaped, dress up as a girl, and pretend to be one of the maids? No, no, Old Marm would recognize him as a man in an instant. Hold a knife to Lord Penikth's throat and demand his immediate release? No, that wouldn't work either, the damn noble would call in his guards in an instant. Besides, the most he could get his hands on was a dull butter knife, which wasn't very threatening. He didn't even think Lord Penikth _owned_ any weapons, except of course, for Lightening. Lightening! Of course, Lightening was still hanging in Lord Penikth's and Lady Panya's master bedroom above the dresser mirror as decoration, he idly remembering spotting it that morning. What a fate for such a noble blade, a mere ornament for a soft noble! It belonged in the hands of a true warrior, a fighter who could wield it with all the grace and strength it had been forged with. A warrior like Alanna.

Suddenly Jon knew with absolute clarity what he had to do. It was his duty as Alanna's friend and knight master to return her beloved Lightening—and if the sword happened to help aide him in his escape, who could possibly object?

Jon smiled as he closed his eyes, exhausted but relieved after spending hours formulating his plan. Tomorrow would be quite the day—he knew his fate lay in his hands.

…**Saphron….**

**

* * *

**

_A/N_: Ooher, what's Jon's plan? HAHA wait 'till you see, as I was writing this I had no idea what it'd be but just not a moment ago a lighting bolt of inspiration struck me from the clouds and my muse spoke to me and now I know _exactly_ how he will escape and it is a very complicated, elaborate, exciting plan lol. Review to read it:D

**Personal Notes:**

**Blaz-girl**: Thanks! I know this wasn't soon but…that's ok! More tomorrow :)

**Cloud9:** Haha, burn indeed! Clever Myles ;)

**Evelyn**: Sorry you're sick! Colds are the worst :( Hahah I know the story IS dragging on a bit…I don't want it to get stale, I'm just having too much fun with it to let it go lol! But don't worry, I have the ending mapped out (more or less), and we're looking at…uh…10 more chapters? Maybe? Eheh –ducks in case people decide to throw stuff lol-

**SG**: Happy turkey day to you too! Did you have a good one? I definitely gained like 5 million pounds, but whatever!

**Eridani**: TP website…BRILLIANT. So simple, and yet, so smart…

**WM**: You're Australian? Cool! I had an aussie friend from college come down to LA with me for Thanksgiving, she says "g'day mate" and calls candy "lollies" lol. I heart aussies!

**LK**: Thanks hun! That is a really nice compliment :)

**LKoH**: Hehe, I know Alanna in a dress is like _so_ cliché, but it's kinda imperative for any fic, I mean it's just inevitable. Thanks for the happy holiday wishes, I hope you had a good turkey day too! And congrats on your test!

**Michelle**: Hello darling, glad to see you're enjoying the story. I'm not sure the _exact _number of chapters but I'm estimating around…ten more? Ish? We'll have to see, lol.

**CK**: Oh my Thanksgiving, hwo to explain that one! Basically it's the day we celebrate when white people came to America, killed all the Natives, and settled the land. Although int eh official story, the Indians gave us food to survive the winter and everyone were friends. (Um, before we gave them smallpox infested blankets that is…) Basically it's a four day weekend (thurs/fri off work/school) and excuse to be with your family, watch football, and stuff your face with delicious food. Fun! Sorry you're cold lol, so am I and I'm in Cali! Oh my, you must be freezing…brrr…well keep your spirits up darlin' and stay nice 'n toasty warm!

**Piglet**: Thank you so much for the list of names! Wow, that's awesome you looked tthem all up and typed them, it's a big help. And you are _very_ perceptive…you totally guessed about Lord Oppy's little crush! I don't think any other reader has—or if they have, they haven't said anything, at least. Kudos to you lol:D HAHA I love the English boys, oh my god, they re so ridiculous…oh, boys…-sigh-

**Cathrun**: Hopeyour exams went well!

**CH-CS:** -laughs- well…Jon and Alanna WILL be in the same vicinity during the ball, but…you'll have to see what happens lol.

**MS:** Hmm, yeah, I haven't mentioned Faithfull too much because he wasn't really that integral to the storyline, but I'm planning on bringing him back when the Tortallian knight force s—oops! Said too much all ready, got to go… ;) (Oh and yes, that was dumb of Jon, but what can you expect, he's a man, lol)

**Goaligirl12**: Hey there! Nice to see a new face 'round these parts. I'm glad you're enjoying the twists and turns of the story :)

**Crystalkat999**: Hello! I always loike seeing a new name'round these parts. I'm glad you're enjoying the story, I feel the same way about loving the Alanna series and wanting it to continue and sort of pretending it does via fanfiction lol. Normally I update really quickly, it was just holiday weekend. But fear not! No more suspense! Or at least, only a little bit…

**NWM:** Haha, George George I know! Lol! You sure are a fan of him! ;)

**MS:** Yay to the bold indeed, and I know, poor Jon! His plight is dire yet amusing at the same time…

--

Woo! That was a lot of personal notes!


	21. Chap 21 Jon's Elaborate Escape Trick Pt1

**Homeward Bound: An Alternate Version of _In the Hands of the Goddess_**

**By Saphron**

_A/N_: Many of you asked the very good question—why didn't George know about the King's death earlier? The answer to that, my friends, is that he was drunk off his arse, lol. Normally he'd be the first to know, but he was a tad preoccupied with the news that Jon and Alanna are still alive (which he found out right before the King died) and thus wasn't paying much attention to any messenger birds flirting about or whatnot. Anyway, I hope that answers your questions!

* * *

**Chapter 21 – Jon's Elaborate Escape Trick – Part 1**

"_The fox has many tricks. The hedgehog has but one. But that is the best of all."_

-- Ralph Waldo Emerson

* * *

_Tortall:_

"So, do you think George was right? Could Jon and Alan really be in Carthak?" Raoul pondered, dismounting casually from his horse with practiced ease. The sun was beginning to set, along with the palace knights unusual duties for the day—the people of Corus were still upset and worried over the King's apparent suicide, but they were somewhat reassured that all hope was not lost for the future of their kingdom. The Tortallan knight force made sure of that.

"Eh, I dunno, he _was_ rather shit-faced…" Gary replied, swiftly removing his horse's saddle and reins. "But somehow I don't think he was just saying those things because he was inebriated. I don't want to get our hopes up too fast, but…I think it's actually possible. More than possible maybe…"

"Let's tell Myles and see what he thinks," Raoul suggested. The two men found the older knight tucked in his study room clutching a mysterious flask. Gary frowned when he saw it, assuming the contents to contain a fair amount of spiced rum—the friendly old soldier was known to be the court drunkard—but Myles, noticing Gary's gaze, waved off the notion.

"The situation is too serious for drink," he intoned somberly, taking another sip, "this is just fresh spring water with a dash of mint. It helps to clear my mind. So what brings you lads here? There wasn't any trouble in the lower city, was there?"

The knights shook their head. At first cautiously, but then animatedly, Raoul explained what happened at the Dancing Dove, letting a healthy dose of hope exude from his words. He wasn't usually such an optimist, but after months of missing his friends he was ready to cling to any ray of sunshine proffered.

"Is there any way we could verify this idea?" Gary mused, chin in hand, "Mayhap we could tell Roger, and he could do some sort of locating spell?"

Myles sharp intake of breath was noticeably audible in the quiet study room. At Gary and Raoul's questioning looks, Myles turned out the contents of his pocket, revealing the last scrap of parchment clutched in Roald's hand. "You should take a look at this before you go running to Roger," he said quietly.

After reading the letter, Gary and Raoul were simply stunned. How did Roger all ready know Jon and Alan were in Carthak? Had he heard the news the same way George did, through this mysterious mage contact in the south, this—what was his name? Arram Draper? But more importantly, why did he request a private audience with the King on the northernmost tower top? There were better ways of insuring privacy—Gary was no mage, but he knew one could easily place a silencing spell in a room so eavesdroppers listening at the door would merely hear polite murmurs instead of top secret conversations… And most importantly of all, if Roger was at the top of the tower, and the King was at the top of the tower, and the King somehow landed at the bottom of the tower…could it have been…could Roger have…?

The thought was unspeakable. The mere suggestion was treasonous. And yet—all the pieces fit together perfectly! George had taught them long ago to look for the man who gains the most power after a decisive event has occurred—and in this case, that would be Roger. With the King dead and Jonathan completely MIA (missing in action), the Queen technically inherited the throne, although her weakened condition clearly prevented her from performing her royal duties—in effect, that left Roger in charge. And his loyalty was seriously being called into question…

For now he was only one woman away from ruling Tortall completely.

And it was entirely feasible that he had pushed the King off that tower edge and orchestrated his untimely death to look like a suicide.

The three knights couldn't be sure of course, the only person who knew exactly what happened on that tower top was currently laying in a casket receiving prayers from an endless chain from Mithronian priests. But that letter planted a seed of doubt in their minds that would bloom and grow into a prickly vine of suspicion.

The King was dead—and a suspected murderer was afoot.

* * *

  
_Carthak_:

Jon rapped soundly on the master bedroom door as soon as he saw Lord Penikth exit towards his study chambers. A small shiver of nervousness tingled its way down his spine as he strode through the doorway. With a chivalrous bow in Lady Panya's direction, he put on the widest smile he could manage, "good morning my lovely, er, dewdrop. How are you feeling?"

A sleepy Lady Panya positively simpered, basking in the glow of Jon's elaborate attention, "much better now that you're here…" she purred, suggestively patting the bed sheets beside her.

Jon sucked in a slight, almost imperceptible, breath of air before leaning down to capture Lady Panya's lips with his own. She leaned hungrily into him, letting a small moan escape. Jon thanked Mithros for his years of practice that enabled him to have this effect on women…!

The Prince finally pulled back, looking reluctant, "oh my beautiful persimmon, as much as I'm enjoying this moment, I fear Lord Penikth might discover our little secret at any moment…yesterday was a tad too close, wouldn't you agree?"

Lady Panya waved Jon's trepidation off with a quick shake of the hand, "nonsense," she declared, "we'll simply lock the door. Besides, he's always busy in the mornings until the midday meal, Mithros knows doing what! Probably stuffing his face, the idiot pig."

Jon mustered the strength for a –what he hoped—was a charming grin, "ah, but you see, I've all ready made arrangements at the Sea Turtle's Shell Inn for us, there are flowers, candles, champagne…all the elements one needs to, er, _entertain_ properly."

Lady Panya squealed like the mouse she was named after, "oh you helpless romantic! You are your wild passions, I can't _wait_ to taste them…but wait, however did you arrange such a thing?"

"I have my ways," he intoned mysteriously. Lady Panya needn't know that Jon had begged the slave girl Alanna had saved, Nikki, to help him arrange the whole thing—the girl did, after all, owe Alanna a major favor for saving her life from a rogue fireball, a favor Jon was simply adopting unto himself. "Now all that remains is to leave the house…you can obviously tell your husband you're going out hat shopping or some other lady like outing. I, however, must have some other ready excuse…"

Lady Panya furrowed her brow, thinking hard, which was not something she was used to. It was far easier to pay others to do the brain work for her. "Can't I just say I need you to carry my purchases or something?"

Jon looked hesitant, but then slowly shook his head, "no, it's too suspicious, a slave man would never be trusted with a nobleman's wife. Especially one as beautiful as yourself"—Jon infused these words with as much sincerity as he could manage without hurling his breakfast—"The only way I could go into the city on an errand was if it were for business purposes…the kitchen staff buy food, but mayhap I could buy something else? Or no! Better yet, sell something—likes that sword." Jon pointed at Lightening, "why don't you tell Lord Penikth you've decided you absolutely _hate_ that atrocious sword and want it out of the house immediately. I, being the helpful slave that I am, am naturally inclined to oblige…"

Jon twitched slightly as he tried to adopt a demure yet sincere expression. He didn't want Lady Panya to think he had planned the whole scheme out too carefully—even though he had—but he wanted to back up his words with a measure of confidence as well. The breath caught in his throat as he waited agonizingly for her reply—if she failed to take the bait, his entire plan would crumble, and all would be lost…

Lady Panya shrugged her shoulders. She didn't particularly mind the slender sword hanging above her dresser, in fact the odd purple gemstone in the hilt was really quite eye-catching, but the plan made sense. What else of value could Jon possibly sell in the marketplace? She certainly wasn't giving up any of her rubies or diamond necklaces, not for all the strapping young bucks in Carthak! No, no, the sword would do. It wasn't a very good decorative piece anyway, it clashed with the overall softer pastel tones she so favored in the room.

"Very well, it sounds plausible enough," she declared, relieving his unspoken agony.

Jon's baited breathed subsided, "I'll be waiting outside, in the men's quarters then," he murmured, slinking towards the door. He threw one last longing look over his shoulder—"I'll see you soon, gorgeous."

…**Saphron…**

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**  
_A/N:_ Part 2 soon! Ooer.

**Personal Notes:**

**Jules-Gemma**: Lol, I know, Jon isn't exactly Mr. Lucky like he's used to in Tortall…but fortunately this time he actually made it lol. Hurrah! Now he can go find Alanna!

**SG**: Hehe you jump for joy, I jump for joy, we all jump for joy:D

**Charlie and lola:** It's pretty much A/J BUT there WILL be a few twists and turns, and George will stick his nose in as well sooo…that'll be fun. But it's ultimately A/J I believe.

**WM:** Lol, my friend Emma said the farther south (or was it north? I can't remember) the more "g'day mate-y" and like typical Aussie accent-y you get. She also calls the turnk of a car the "boot," I love it. Thanks so much for reassuring me that I don't need to stress about updating everyday! I really appreciate it :) Oh, and if you skipped the A/N at the top, here it is to answer your question: "_A/N_: Many of you asked the very good question—why didn't George know about the King's death earlier? The answer to that, my friends, is that he was drunk off his arse, lol. Normally he'd be the first to know, but he was a tad preoccupied with the news that Jon and Alanna are still alive (which he found out right before the King died) and thus wasn't paying much attention to any messenger birds flirting about or whatnot. Anyway, I hope that answers your questions!"

**LKoH**: Hehe! I'm glad you found "Rolly" so funny, I try and throw in a little humor here and then and it's so spiffy when it actually works! Oh I know, Alanna would be sooo mad…good thing she won't find out! Tehe, or will she? oO I know! I actually contemplated dressing Jon up as a girl and forging his own escape, but then I'd still have the little problem of him needing to leave the house, plus I had spent all this time building up the Lady Panya plotline that I didn't want to just toss that…but you're right, it would have been quite hilarious. Oh well, maybe in another fic… Let's see, the ball is in hmm, maybe 5 more chapters? I'm not sure…Jon needs to spend a bit of time tracking down Alanna, but she WILL go to the palace really soon so… Snow! Ack! –brrr- I like my sunshine, thank you very much lol. I know! 20 chapters? It's un-freakin'-believable. I knew this thing would be long, but I had no idea THIS long…

**TheInklings**: Yay for Georgie-porgies and Jon escaping indeed!

**CK**: I had a very nice thanksgiving, thank you darling. It was quit relaxing (er, seeing as how I had homework, I just didn't do it…) Yes indeed, it WAS Numair who told Rispah who told George…which wouldn't have happened if Lord Penikth hadn't had a ball and arranged for a magical firework display and Alanna hadn't save the maid she befriended several chapters back and don't you just love how it all connects together? I plot it all out so I introduce characters and settings before they come into the limelight, it's really quite an intricate story. But right, thanks again fro the fab review! You're like confidence in a box lol.

**Piglet: **Hurrah! The humor worked! –does a happy dance- Thanks so much Piglet m'dear:D

**KoT**: Yup, Jewish customs are pretty nifty, I think because it's a culture, not just a religion. (I'm not making that up, you can learn in any human geography class that a cultural ethnicity requires a) a language (Hebrew/Yiddish) b) a place of origin (Israel) and probably one more requirement, I forget) NE-way…poor Jon indeed! Fortionatly he's on his way to escaping lol.

**CH-CS**: Lol, you probably just got caught up in the (more exciting) Carthak bits. Tortall is interesting enough, but it's obviously the subplot, not the main story line. Er, to fill you in, Roger killed the King and George found out J & A are in Carthak. There, cheers.

**Cloud9**: Hehehe glad you liked the "manhood" references –wink wink- ;)


	22. Chap 22 Jon's Elaborate Escape Trick Pt2

**Homeward Bound: An Alternate Version of _In the Hands of the Goddess_**

**By Saphron**

_A/N_: Oh good golly Miss Molly this thing is freakin' epic! I knew it'd be a long one, but I had no idea it'd be THIS long…chapter 22 and two hundred reviews? My goodness…I love you guys. As always, enjoy—this chapter is EXTRA long :D

PS: I need some feedback on this chapter, because I'm not sure if the plot can hold water…what do you think? Now don't get me wrong, I luuurve the endless praise (so much!) but if anyone has constructive criticism, it is also of course welcomed as well. :)

* * *

**Chapter 22 – Jon's Elaborate Escape Trick – Part 2**

"_The fox has many tricks. The hedgehog has but one. But that is the best of all."_

--Ralph Waldo Emerson

_

* * *

Carthak, Lord Oppenheimer's Tower:_

Alanna gazed at the lightly falling rain outside her window, chin in hand, pondering the trials and tribulations of life. After spending all morning assisting Lord Oppenheimer in his mysterious experiment, her gift was drained and she was bone tired. The thing they had been working on so tirelessly was an odd metal cylinder filled with a combination of their collective magic, a thick liquid Lord Oppenheimer had concocted from the various ingredients Alanna had gathered, like the poisonous mushrooms, and some unidentifiable phosphorescent substance he like to call "pluto."

Her master was currently absorbed in putting the finishing touches on his piece de resistance, and she was allowed a merciful break. Her mind idly wondered what the experiment could possibly be—all she knew was that Lord Oppenheimer was planning on presenting it to the emperor at the ball—but rather her thoughts turned towards her life at the tower. Her swordsmanship was strong, which was some comfort in her lonely situation. Lord Oppenheimer was kind to her, more so than civil law or even social politeness required him to be, and she had even come to regard him more as a brotherly friend than an evil slave-master—but she still ached for Jonathan in a deep and restless way.

He was her sole link to the only world she had ever known or belonged to; he was her knight-master, mentor and friend; he was her rock when she threatened to take flight, her safety net when she threatened to fall, her enjoyable companion and loyal secret keeper, and finally, more recently, he had become…something else. There was no tangible title that could define him or their quizzical relationship, one kiss certainly did not imply a marriage engagement or even a simple courtship, but Alanna knew, as surely as she knew she belonged in Tortall, that her relationship with Jonathan had changed in a profound and subtle way.

There were…layers now. There was, implications. There was…well, honestly, there was simple old-fashioned sexual attraction! The way he had looked into her eyes in the charred remains of that rose garden—Alanna knew. Oh, love was far too idealistic and nebulous a term, but there certainly was _something_. Something that could only be born from growing up with a person for years, from knowing them thoroughly inside and out, from accepting their flaws and admiring their charms, from nestling together in the warm confines of friendship, and from realizing the potential for something more. Like a damn that had slowly been filled with water and had now reached its critical point, Alanna and Jon were at the apex of their potential. There was no guarantee the faint sprout of romance would spring to life, but the possibility was there, newly awaked like a seed come to light after months of slumbering in the damp earthy soil. It was there, and if they ever found each other again, it just might stand a chance.

_

* * *

_

_Carthak, the city:_

"That'll be two coppers laddie," grinned the grizzled one-eyed flower seller.

Jon handed over the swiftly dwindling coins in his purse-string, drawing form the paltry sum kept after his capture at the Drell River bank some several weeks ago, and scooped up the lilies, looking for the entire world like an excited lover. Or at least, he hoped he looked like one, for the household guards scant inches from his back would not be very forgiving if they discovered his true intentions to ditch Lady Panya first chance he got! Lighting was tucked tightly under his arm, wrapped in thick soft paper that dulled the blade's edge so it couldn't scrape anybody, and he was breathing clean fresh air outside once again. So far his plan was working perfectly!

Lady Panya's whiny complaints about the sword annoyed Lord Penikth enough that he ordered its immediate absence from his household. He has briskly called upon some other slave to do the deed—which nearly threw off Jonathan's entire scheme!—but Jon had edged his way in with a charming smile and a stack of finished letters. The other slave was sent away, and Jon was handed the Tortallan blade.

Lord Penikth would never send something so valuable with his guards, who were likely to skim a few coppers off the top of the sale, but a slave was an entirely different story. A slave would never dare steal from a Lord, the punishment was far too gruesome! A chopped off finger—or possibly a hand, depending on the severity of the crime—whereas a free guard would merely be fired dishonorably.

Sending _both_ slave and guard at once ensured the guard did not attempt to fatten his own coiffeurs with the slave as witness, and visa versa. Theoretically, the two could cohort together and split the extra coin, except the guards' contempt for slaves and the slaves' hatred of the guards made this possibility highly unlikely. Not to mention the fact that Lord Penikth knew the rough value of the sword, and would certainly raise an eyebrow if two if the price fetched was below what it should be. No, no, this was the proper way to conduct things.

Thus Jon found himself accompanied by two of Lord Pneikth's rather portly guards, clutching a bouquet of flowers, weaving his way through the crowds towards the Sea Turtle's Shell Inn, a clean but quiet hovel on the outskirts of the city limits. Jon had chosen this inn precisely for its convenient location to the outside countryside.

Of course, the guards were fully aware of Lady Panya's frequent fixations with various men _not_ married to her, but their silence was bought with a few coppers in their boots and the hefty promise that if any of them even so much as suggested the idea to her husband, Lady Panya would personally see to their castration—and no guard wanted that! Thus they had been briefed on the Mistress's rendezvous with the slave-boy at the inn, and were willing to cooperate fully.

When they arrived outside the wooden gate, Jon nodded to the innkeep, who ushered them in with a bow and sent them scurrying upstairs to await Lady Panya's arrival. The guards positioned themselves outside the door, knowing Jon could not escape the three story building through the window without breaking a bone or two in the process, and chuckled as they patted him in.

"Ay boy, ye 'ave-ah good time now-ah, ye 'ere?" They chortled, as Jon turned beat red. Normally such crude innuendos to the natural act of sex did not faze him—having heard it all in the squire's mess hall and soldier's bunkers—but this was an entirely different scenario. Jon was not the one bragging about his latest conquests…he _was_ the conquest! He was being _used_, for Mithros sake…

Jon glanced around the clean but Spartan room, noting the white walls, simple mattress, plain closet door and sole vase for decorating. He disinterestedly shoved the lilies in the vase and turned to open the window. The view he met was not reassuring; the three story window did indeed reveal a dizzying height. Down below, the market place swirled with activity. Merchants crowded beneath draped cloth tents advertised the merits of their weirs to oncoming passerby. Horses bowled forwards without the least bit care to people's sandaled toes, and street rags begged for a sweet bit of crumb. Nonetheless, there _was_ a way out, and Jon knew precisely what it was. It was simple really, apparent once you realized it. For easy logic precluded the obvious; if you can't go down, go _up_.

A well-placed foot on the bar in the middle of the window frame, a desperate grab for the roof railing, a burst of adrenaline fueled strength to haul a hundred and eighty-five pound frame up over the edge…it wouldn't be easy, but it could be done.

However, there was the slight problem of the guards waiting outside. Jon knew they'd give chase at the first sign of his disappearance—which was why he wanted to be long gone before they realized that fateful sign. Lady Panya would arrive any moment, if he left now he'd scarcely have minutes to flee—unless, of course, the guards and the mistress were somehow…_distracted_.

Unbeknownst to Jon, a merciless smile danced across his face as he popped his head outside and asked the guards to send up a serving man.

"Aye, wouldn't ye prefer-ah a nice pretty lil' milkmaid? Or are ye saving yerself for our noble Lady?" One of the guards snickered lasciviously.

"Er, I need, ah, _man-to-man advice_, all right," Jon coughed, blushing at the thought of him _ever_ requiring such a service! But if the little lie bought him his freedom…well, it was certainly worth tarnishing the fine reputation of Jonathan of Conte, Renowned Lady's Man.

When the serving man, a thin but well built lad of twenty or so, entered the room, Jon looked him squarely in the eye to measure him. He was a bit too skinny, and his hair was rather longer than it should be, but it'd do. Oh, it'd most certainly do.

Quickly Jon explained his plan and handed the serving lad the last remains of his monetary wealth, the coin that had lived in the heel of his boot since the time of his capture that he have scrupulously saved for just such an occasion. Mercifully the lad agreed to his orders—ney, he was actually quite enthusiastic about the commission! When Lady Panya entered, she had no idea there was someone else in the room, hiding in a broom closet.

"Ah, my dear peach blossom, finally you have arrived!" Jon cried, twirling Lady Panya in the air before kissing her deeply. The flushed look she wore and dangerously sparkling twinkle in her eye could not contain her excitement at the prospect of finally getting laid by a charming and handsome man such as Jonathan of Conte.

Jon chuckled as he popped the Champaign bottle, which had been sent up with the serving man. "I have an idea, my little sex kitten," he murmured, pouring the bubbling liquid into two slender glasses. "Why go for ordinary, when we can go for extraordinary? I have just the thing to throw a little spice into the bed…"

Lady Panya gulped her Champaign and eagerly held out her glass for more. She knew she shouldn't, what with being four months with child, but hey, you only lived once right? Why this rendezvous was getting more thrilling every minute! First a secret escape from the house, then an adventure to find the Sea Turtle Inn, now flowers and Champaign and a kinky boy toy…what more could a girl ask for? Life was simply divine!

Jon turned out the contents of his pocket, procuring two black blindfolds made from cloth-strips torn from his undershirt. She pouted slightly, unsure about this strange addition, but Jon's obvious eagerness and charming smile convinced her. He grinned wickedly as he carefully tied Lady Panya's blindfold around her squinty eyes—she never saw him motion to the serving man stepping lightly from the closet.

With a wink Jon tiptoed to the window, Lightening clutched safely beneath his right arm, and climbed outside, hooking his foot on the outer ledge and grasping for the roof shingles. He had just clamored to the top when he heard the soft moans of Lord Penikth's wife, who had no idea the man pleasuring her so was not the handsome blue-eyed slave boy Jonathan—who had just escaped out of a window—but rather a random serving lad known as "Skinny" to his friends on the streets…

The guards would hear what they expected to hear—Lady Panya's moans of ecstasy—and not give chase for half an hour, maybe more, depending on Skinny's performance beneath the sheets. The rouse had bought Jon precious time to escape, and best of all, avoided ever having to bed a simpering manipulative pregnant Carthaki noble woman!

Jon sped across the elaborate rooftop network, not pressed for time but hurrying anyway, glad to be rid of the wretched Lady and her insatiable sexual needs. He was free, free at last! Free to find Alanna, spring her from Lord Oppenheimer's clutches, and sail home to Tortall…assuming of course, he could find her in this great big southern land.

_Where should I look? _Jon thought, as the sun slowly began sinking behind the mountain horizon, _what was the name of the fief Lord—I mean Penikth, just Penikth, I need no longer refer to him as 'my lord'—mentioned?_

"…_Lord Oppenheimer was willing to pay twice as much as I bought her for, the old fool! Lord knows what he wants with her, he's known for holing himself up in that tower at his fief Crow's Lane, mayhap his nights have been a little lonely…the girl would make a nice addition to his bedroom…"_

To Crow's Lane it was then…

…**.Saphron…**

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**_A/N:_ **(1)**So…what did you think? I liked this chapter because I thought it was a very original plot device, but I want to know what **YOUR** opinion of it is. Was the elaborate scheme too over the top? Too unbelievable? Not realistic enough, too far fetched? Or maybe…just maybe—could it have worked? What do you guys think? Was my creative license a little loose, or were you genuinely convinced that this was a reasonable course of action? Please give me feedback! I can't grow as a writer without constructive criticism!

**(2)** Also, I'm heading into **finals** soon, so expect a little lag on the updates. However, immediately preceding finals is a month-long WINTER BREAK, in which I swear to finish this thing by January 1st, 2006! (And then start on another Alanna fic I have in mind…) Happy New Year, one and all. :)

**(3)** Darlings I love you, but it's exhausting writing personal notes to everyone, and honestly it's a major contributor of time delays. T'weren't so bad back in the days of like, 4 or 5 reviews for chapter, but now that we've reached about 15/chapter (which is soooo awesome!) it's hard to keep up. And I figure you rather have this chapter soon rather than later so…**I'm going to cut this feature out**. I'm sorry! If you have specific questions (like why didn't Jon do this, what's up with Alanna and that, I don't understand why you wrote this…etc etc) or specific advice (so-and-so's name should be spelled like this, why don't you add this plot device in, I have a suggestion about X…etc etc) I'll certainly answer/respond them. But from now on, to all of you who graciously shower me with praise, I can only give a giant heartfelt THANK YOU. So, so much.

(At the very least, it will be interesting to see if I still get the same volume of reviews after cutting out the personal note feature…HMM…)

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_**Personal Notes (revised:)**_

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**NEW REVIEWERS:** Welcome aboard! Glad you like the show :D I'm honored to be some of your first fanfictions, and I'm equally honored to be some of your favorite/"one of the best you've ever read" as well!

** OLDIES**: You guys are so fabulously loyal! I heart you all, end of story.

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**Chi**: What does "ftw" mean, lol? (And thanks, I'm happy you like it :) 

**Smiles**: Gary and Raoul will find out Alanna's sex in the not too distant future, but not by Myles, the man keeps his mouth shut. Hmm, how will they ever know then? You'll see ;) Oh, and maybe I will make Jon dress up a girl, just for you:)

**LKoH**: Sorry you almost slipped! I'm clumsy too lol, so I hear you. I didn't know about your parents, I'm truly sorry. You're a very brave girl. I can just tell.

**KoT**: Sorry for the misspelling error! Won't happen again.

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	23. Ch 23 Brotherhood of the Arabian Knights

**Homeward Bound: An Alternate Version of _In the Hands of the Goddess_**

**By Saphron**

_A/N_: THANK YOU for continuing to review even though I cut out the personal note section! And for being so patient with this chapter, I've been studying hard for my calculus final. But of course, the call of writing beckoned, and my textbook could not keep me long…

Also, I'm really glad you found the escape fairly believable. I know it was a little unconventional…but come now, that's what makes a story interesting right? Right! Anyway, this one's a smidge longer than normal, so enjoy...

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**Chapter 23 – The Brotherhood of the Arabian Knights**

_"There is honor among thieves."_

-- Proverb

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_Tortall:_

"We have to arrest the bloody bastard!" Gary shouted, a contorted look of fury etched on his face. "_He murdered the King!_"

"Gary, silence!" Myles ordered steely, standing up to enforce his short, stocky frame on the taller knight. The intimidation tactic worked like a charm—Myles rarely appeared so imposing, and when he did, younger knights knew to pay attention.

"Yeah Gary, calm down," Raoul agreed, laying a soothing hand on his shoulder, "we don't know for sure he did it."

Gary scoffed, clearly in disbelief, "oh please, it makes perfect sense, all the evidence points that way and you know it. We can't keep this to ourselves, we need to tell someone! He needs to go on trial for his crimes!"

"And he will!" Myles interjected, "he will be judged and held accounted for, if not by us than by the gods, they do not look kindly on regicide, it makes them think we mere mortals are acting a bit upty, trying to change fate and what have you."

"I don't care about his soul or afterlife or the bloody gods," Gary fumed bitterly, "I care about his time here on Earth—and seeing we make that as short and unpleasant as possible!"

"And what, perchance, do you propose?" Myles asked pointedly, "Roger is for all extent and purposes King now—the Queen is too ill to take up her royal duties, Jonathan is presumably dead, only Roger is left—and the whole court knows it. No one would dare stand up to him! To do so would be asking for death. We must be patient, we must gather more evidence before we can denounce him— "

"Oh brilliant idea, let's sit here and twiddle our thumbs, meanwhile he can finish the job and off the Queen!"

"Gary!"

"It's true though! If the Queen mysteriously dies, do _you_ want that guilt resting on your shoulders? Knowing you could have stopped her murder, if only you had the guts to say something ages ago?" Gary said softly, his eyes sad yet defiant.

Myles sighed. "No, no I would not. But as your friend and former teacher, I will not let you stick out your neck only to see it chopped off by you-know-who."

"He wouldn't dare," Gary declared confidently, "he can't just go around throwing knights of the realm on the gallows; the court would never stand for it!"

"You never know how intimidation can turn courageous men into cowardly sheep," Myles murmured softly, shaking his head.

"Well I don't care—I'm calling him out, and that's that."

And with that bold statement, Gary threw open the door and marched out into the hall, head held high. Raoul leaped up to follow him, but Myles put a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Don't," he whispered, "the lad is brave but foolhardy. He thinks he can't possibly go wrong because he has good and truth and justice on his side, but he does not understand the ways of men, the ways of power and corruption and fear! That knowledge can only come with age, we can't stop him. What would we do, tie him to his bedposts? Ah, the fool! The blind fool! There is nothing we can do…let him say his piece, we will be there to support him, but I fear this will not end well…nay, I fear it will not end well at all…"

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_Carthak:_

Jon slipped over the wet cobblestones, cursing under his breath. A light rain drizzled down the rooftop shingles and gutter pipes, landing softly on his exposed head. He still rather be out and about prowling the city like a free man than chained to Lady Panya's bedpost, but still! Did it have to rain so bloody much in the tropical lands of the south?

What he needed was information. He knew Alanna was being kept at Crow's Lane, but he had no idea whether to head north, south, east, or west, and somehow blindly wandering around the whole of Carthak hardly sounded appealing. The problem was, only _nobles _might be able to help him. Most common folk didn't give a whit about fiefdoms. Oh sure, they knew the big ones, where the most prominent friends of the emperor lived, but after a quick investigation Jon quickly realized Crow's Lane was not one of them. No one in the lower city had heard of the place. He has asked several merchants and beggars, but had little luck.

Jon needed a noble. But where to find one? Certain areas of the city obviously contained far more expensive housing—he had just left one such area—but he feared returning to such a dangerous local, and in the meanwhile, he had to escape the brutal elements before he caught a horrid cold.

Sighting a clean but rather shabby looking inn, he bounded quickly across the paved street, lightly stepping to avoid a thee-inch puddle. He shook his collar, releasing the last drops of water clinging to his cloak, and popped his head inside. The warmth that greeted him was a true comfort. A roaring fireplace along the back wall heated the small room, along with the some forty other bodies pressed inside. Jon tried to dash into an empty seat at a cornor table but was waylaid by a busty waitress almost immediately instead.

"Ay-ah, what would ye be-ah havin-ah terday laddie? We just-ah got a fresh bath of pumpkin ale brewed, might-ah I recommend that?"

Jon winced, fearing the words that his next words would get him kicked out of the cozy warmth and back onto the cold dreary streets, "er, actually, I haven't got much money, it's just—it's raining outside, and it seemed so nice and toasty in here…"

The milkmaid sighed, "We're not s'possed to let-ah no one in that can't-ah pay, t'is bad for business t'is, but ye don' look-ah like no riffraff—ye wouldn't believe-ah the sorry sort we usually get-ah in 'ere when it rains! Drives The Chief right mad it does."

"The Chief?" Jon questioned sharply, his mind working like a cog. Could the Carthaki's possibly have the Tortallan equivalent of the Court of the Rogue?

The waitress gave him a funny look, "yer not-ah from around 'ere, are ye? Else ye'd know-ah 'bout the Brotherhood of the Arabian Knights."

Jon shifted, uncomfortable in the gaze of her pointed stare. "No, no I'm not," he said carefully, "but I think I understand your brotherhood. I'm from Tortall, and we have something called the Court of the Rogue. I'm friends with the man who rules it."

"Ye know George?" The waitress asked inquiringly, shifting her weight to balance her alcohol-laden tray more comfortably.

Jon gaped—he had no idea George's reputation extended so far! Seeing his shocked expression, the girl chuckled, "oh, come now, we may-ah be from different kingdoms, but 'a rogue 's a rogue 's a rogue' we always say! We don-ah know much 'bout our neighbors up-ah north, but we try 'n keep abreast of whose-ah in charge. We know a man named George Copper has been rulin' for-ah few years now-ah."

Jon nodded, silently amazed with the elaborate system commoners had devised to organize their lives. And he thought the noble's court and king's government were complicated! It seemed international diplomacy reached down into every layer of society, even the most common.

"Well a friend-ah of an Arabian Knight—or in your case, a Tortallan Rogue—is-ah friend-ah 'ere. I'll bring ya a cuppa water, we'll-ah just pretend it's vodka, it'll be our little-ah secret. Just try not ter bring too much-ah attention t' yourself laddie!" The waitress left with a wink, hollering to the barkeep to hurry up with those drinks. Jon sat and tucked his freezing fingers into his shirtsleeves, storing the information he had gathered into his mind. It was interesting that in Carthak too, the thieves united to form a coalition. This was knowledge any future king should know.

Suddenly the thought struck him—maybe the King of the Rogues, or the Arabian Knights, as they called them here—could help him find out where Crow's Lane was located! True, the hoi polloi rarely cared about noble's affairs, but if Jon had learned anything from his thief friend, it was that common thieves often knew far more than they first appeared to. Mithros, George usually heard the palace gossip before even he did! And anyway, it couldn't possibly hurt to ask…

Standing quickly before he lost his nerve, Jon made his way to the central fireplace, where a circle of men and women were clustered around the warm coals, chatting animatedly. He guessed the tall man in the center of attention to be the King—or Chief, as they called him—and bowed politely to him, clearing his throat to call attention to himself.

The waitress he had been talking to earlier shook her head, as if to say 'I told ye not t' attract too much attention to yerelf!' But he ignored her. Plowing on, he spoke quietly but confidently, "I'm sorry to interrupt, but my name is Jonathan of Tortall, and I have a favor to ask of the Chief."

The tall man's eyes danced with mirth as the men sourounding him chuckled merrily. One wiry girl by his side frowned and narrowed her eyes, as if she were seizing him up. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but the tall man quickly cut her off, a secret grin tingeing his handsome features. "Ay, and what-ah might that be-ah young sprat? An' more importantly—why-ah should th' brotherhood help ye? We've heard-ah of no Jonathan of Tortall, is there anyone here-ah that can speak for ye? Yer a long way from home-ah, boy."

Jon took a deep breath, ready with an answer. He had anticipated the Chief's questions; years of training to be a King had taught him the rules of diplomacy. "I need to locate a friend of mine, and I need information on where to find her. I come to you, the Chief of the Brotherhood, because I know folk such as yourselves are often quite knowledgeable about the world—" Jon didn't think a little good old-fashioned flattery could possibly hurt—"my friend, George Cooper, King of Thieves in Tortall, has taught me that."

A murmur broke out at the mention of George's name, and Jon thanked his lucky stars he knew the man. Who'd of thought the Crown Prince would someday rely on his association with Tortall's most wanted criminal for help! It just proved that you could have never too many friends or connections in this world…

"And, to answer your second question," Jon continued, "you should help me because a 'a rogue 's a rogue 's a rogue,' and a friend of a rogue is just that—a friend!"

Suppressed smiles ringed the circled; the men were clearly amused by Jon's boldness, all though they were doing their best to hide it. The man leaned back in chair and tapped his chin, looking pensive. "Well," he drawled slowly, "it's up-ah t'th' Chief to decide yer fate, and whether we want ter help yeh"— Jon looked confused, wasn't he talking to the Chief as that very moment?—"so I suggest ye ask her!"

The men positively roared with laughter as Jon's face turned cherry red. Even his ears were tinged pink! How could he be so stupid…after all Alanna had taught him about what women were truly capable of…and he had just _assumed_…

The wiry girl perched by the man's side scowled, annoyed by the way people always assumed it had to be a _man_ in charge of the Brotherhood. Sexist pigs! When would the world realize that women were just as capable leaders as males? "So," she snorted, "whose th' little friend yer lookin' for?"

**...Saphron…**  
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_A/N:_ Oh man, I didn't even realize there WAS a review reply feature available! I've been away from this site too long, I still don't know what a "C2 community" is… (anyone care to explain?) Anyway, that's nifty. I probably won't use it though because I'm too busy with finals and I'm trying to get chapters posted fairly quickly. But know that I appreciate all of you for taking the time to encourage me, because without you this story wouldn't exist.

And now, to answer some questions :)

**LadyKofH**: How do I come up with stuff? Er, I dunno! I honestly don't lol. Well let's see…ok, first came the idea that it'd be funny if Lady Panya was after him, because ultimately this is an A/J fic and I thought throwing a kink into that plan would be fun. (There are MANY more kinks to come…can't let this thing be too predictable y'know!) Then I realized that Jon was stuck, he couldn't escape by stealth, as I mentioned…he and Alanna all ready tried that. The only way he could escape was by somehow finding an excuse to leave the house. With Lady Panya after him it just clicked together perfectly…oh, I could have made it so he ditched the guards first thing, but the decoy boy was too funny to pass up so I wrote him in lol. That was just for kicks. Sometimes inspiration just strikes I guess. :)

**Piglet**: I know your question was rhetorical and in no way related to the fic, but to answer it anyway lol, YES, yes, I do get a little under a month off from school for the holidays! That's the way they do it in college lol. (Although to be fair, we started ridiculously early, like in August…so I need the break lol!)

**Lady Knight:** you'll see what happens when Alanna looks for him at the ball lol…who knows, maybe he'll find her first? HMMM…l

**Smiles:** Well Gary has plans to denounce Roger…how do you think that will go? The fact that Roger will surely try to kill him might have an influence on whether or not he ends up in Carthak…tehe…

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	24. Chapter 24 Champaign Toasts

**Homeward Bound: An Alternate Version of In the Hands of the Goddess**

**By Saphron **

_A/N: _The Chief's name is pronounced Suh-rye (like rye bread)-uh, all righty?

Also, I've been informed that the Carthaki's accents are a bit too hard to read, so I'm toning them down. Hope that helps--let me know which style you prefer please!

And **thank you**--once again--for reviewing so loyally. You guys truly inspire me.

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**Chapter 24: Champaign Toasts  
**

_Carthak, the Sandlot Inn:_

At first the circle ringing the fireplace consisted of a mere handful of men, but by the time Jon finished telling his entire tale of woe, it seemed as if every ear in the inn was turned eagerly towards him. Oh, Jon left out certain details—such as the fact that he was actually a prince, and Alanna was a girl training as a squire in disguise—but the gist of the story, their surprise capture and cruel descent into slavery, the trials and tribulations they faced at Lord Penikth's manor, including routine beatings and isolation, their dramatic separation after the rogue fireball incident, and finally Jon's elaborate escape trick—well, an hour later and the inn patrons were hooked! Sympathetic clucking noises, growls of anger, open jaws of surprise and admiration—Jon spun the saga like a weaver at his loom. The Arabian Knights were most impressed.

"Aye laddie, that's quite th' tale! Missy m'dear, bring the lad a cuppa pumpkin ale on me, he deserves it after a right entertain' story like that!"

Jon sipped his spiced beverage to hide the smile perched on his face. Even though the journey had not been easy, it felt so good to _finally_ be able to tell it to someone! It was really quite therapeutic. And he was definitely the sort of strapping young lad who basked in the flattering attention of others.

However, he was somewhat concerned with Saraiya, the Lady Chief, who seemed slightly less enamored with him than the others…

She practically glowered at Jon when he pleadingly asked the brotherhood to help him locate his dear friend Alanna, who he feared was in great distress and agony, tucked away in some lonely forest tower, held captive by a cruel malicious mage with impure notions…

"Why should we bother?" she scoffed, "we owe ye naught. Th' fact that y'know George merely buys yer life—mayhap we won't kill ye for bein' so uppity as to march on in 'ere and demand a favor from th' Brotherhood!"

Jon's smile slipped into a frown; why was she being so hostile? Her men clucked, knowing her words to be a tad hyperbolic—they would never kill a man for asking a simple favor, not unless he threatened them in anyway—she was just being obstinate, as usual. She was a good leader, intelligent and capable, and inspired a fierce degree of loyalty in her men, who defended her honor even when others scoffed at the idea of a woman chief. But a lifetime of constantly striving to beat the men at their own game had left her somewhat hardened; she didn't trust easily, and the Hag forbid, if you double-crossed her, watch out! Jon however, was unaware of the complex myriad of psychological traits making up her mental psyche, and just presumed she didn't like him much—an attitude he hoped to change with a little of the infamous Conte charm.

"I understand that I have no ties to blood nor kin to you and your people," he stated slowly, carefully enunciating each word, "but I request this favor in the name of international diplomacy and the honorable code of thieves…you are clearly a wise and knowledgeable leader, and I am merely a humble former slave lad, come to beg your assistance in this matter. Please, my Lady, I implore you to aide me, with all my heart…I call upon the almighty power of the Brotherhood!"

Jon's fluttering eyelashes and unctuous tone were just enough to get the girl to grunt, "well boy, we can help ye find this Crow's Lane that yer a-lookin' fer—we have a pretty elaborate information network across the country—but yer gonna hafta do something for us first. A favor for a favor, if ye like."

"Anything," Jon breathed.

"We've been a-meaning to nab that rich sonofabitch Lord Penikth for awhiles now, ever since he ordered his guards to beat the sense out of our chum Skips, just fer happenin' to stand in his way when th' fat noble was down in th' market buyin' s'more slaves—probably you and yer friend. Yeh well, t'was right bloody unfair ter thrash him like that t'was…but no matter, now that you're 'ere, yer gonna help us rob th' fool blind!"

An enthusiastic chorus of approval greeted the Chief's decision, and she sat back smugly in her chair, smirking mercilessly. Jon quickly considered his options; refuse the request and be left on his own to find Alanna, which could take days, possibly weeks, or help the Brotherhood, find out Alanna's location, and simultaneously get revenge on the man who had treated him so cruelly…

There was no question of Jon's decision. With a firm handshake the deal was made. Jon downed another glass of pumpkin ale as the men surrounding him pounded him solidly on the back in a manly show of camaraderie. Jon beamed, feeling the warm glow of the ale, and raised his glass with the others in toast.

"To th' Brotherhood!" Saraiya cried, as she poured a liberal amount of Champaign into everyone's glasses.

"To our fearless Lady Leader!" One of her men responded.

"To th' sweet taste o' revenge!" Said another.

"To stuffin' them greedy nobles!" And another.

"To riches galore!" And another.

"To pumpkin ale!" And one more.

"And…to Alanna," Jon whispered so softly, not even the wind could hear.

* * *

_Crow's Lane, outside:_

The tracker hummed an old battle song he learned as a lad, while the rabbit's blood ran thick down his bare arms. He had been living in the woods for quite some time now, feeding from the myriad of indigenous plants and beasts. Fortunately his training as a tracker well prepared him for such a rugged lifestyle; he knew how to forage for edible weeds, set traps for small animals, and fish in the local with river with nothing but a bit of twine and a stick. However, although he could find adequate nourishment, he could not find adequate entertainment.

The cursed girl stayed holed up in that tower practically every moment! Oh sure, occasionally she'd venture out, but only in the company of that fireball hurling mage. Once she even returned from a jaunt to the local village wearing—of all things—a full length ball gown, but other than that one particular incident, he had not seen hide nor hair of the lass.

And he was growing itchy. All he wanted to do was kill the prince and his squire, collect his highly profitable commission, and go home. But he couldn't lay a finger on the bloody Tortallan, it seemed the gods themselves were protecting them! Jonathan was locked within that nobleman's manor and Alan—although he doubted that was her _real_ name—was locked in that mage's tower. Could he ever get a break?

No, Lady Luck had appeared to forsake him...he was almost tempted to throwing in the rag and catch the next boat ride to Tusaine, but without the prince's head on a platter he knew he'd be shunned and despised. No, he'd just had to wait the dreary thing out, and hope something changed for the better soon…

An unfamiliar echo of voices drifted through the trees, causing the tracker to perk up his ears and peer out of the shrubbery. There he spotted the mage and two of his slaves standing on a grassy knoll, heads bowed. Silently, he watched.

* * *

Alanna's black gloved hands were held demurely in front of her as she closed her eyes and absorbed Lord Oppenheimer's solemn words of prayer. The day was clear yet cool, as a light wind rustled through the air, swirling her skirts about her ankles as the cold winter sun shined down on the freshly plowed earth. Binney was beside her, face pale as ash, eyes chiseled hollow with grief. Old Patrick, her husband, had died in the night. Today was the funeral. 

Alanna's uneasiness was made all the more intense by the strangeness of Old Patrick's death. He appeared to have died peacefully in his sleep—a little too peacefully. Whilst picking fresh mint herbs along the edge of the woods, Binney had spotted her husband lying peacefully on the wet dewy grass in a shadowy nook of trees, arms crossed serenely over his chest, eyes closed, a small bouquet of flowers draped by his side. She had laughed, thinking he had snuck away from his duties for a quick nap in the sunshine, but upon closer inspection she was horrified to find the shallow rise and fall of chest missing—he was not breathing. His face was bone white, drained of all blood, and his hands were cold despite the moderately warm morning. She had shaken him, screamed at him, clutched him to her bosom and begged him to awake—but it did no use. The man had passed into the hands of the Dark God.

Today the trio was commemorating his quiet life of servitude and husbandry with a few simple death rite words. Lord Oppenheimer's eulogy was thoughtful and kind, although the words did little to comfort the aged widow. Alanna bit her lip in worry, pitying the old woman, who would surely spend the rest of her days sad and alone. This was _precisely_ why she never planned to fall in love—when you gave your heart to someone, you might never get it back.

Alanna shook her head to clear the thoughts of Jon creeping into her mind—she was at a funeral for Mithros' sake! She should not be thinking such impure things as Jon's last tender kiss…

"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, now we lay thy child into the ground, thou we art comforted, knowing he has passed into your eternal blessed hands," Lord Oppenheimer murmured, calling Alanna's attention back to the scene. "May you keep him always and love him as we have loved him. Amen." With that the death rites were laid. Lord Oppenheimer waved his hand and a waterfall of dirt began pouring into the sunken grave. Alanna watched as the ground morphed and changed to seal over the simple wooden casket. Tiny twigs were sucked into the avalanche as slowly Old Patrick disappeared from mortal sight forever, a denizen of the deep rich earth now. Involuntarily she shuddered, creeped out by the casual use of magic for such a solemn task. She had many years ahead of her to become a knight and go on great adventures; or at least, she hoped she did…

Later that night she approached Lord Oppenheimer at his desk by the fire, where, as usual, he was just putting the finishing touches on his experiment. She didn't want to interrupt him when he was so obviously engrossed in measuring and pouring various vials of crimson liquids into his cauldron, but she was curious about a few things, and a long fireside conversation might be just the thing she needed to calm herself.

"How do you…how do you think Old Patrick died?" She asked quietly, staring into the flames, fascinated by the rise and fall of the golden red hues.

Lord Oppenheimer shrugged, "he was quite old Alanna, I'm sure he passed peacefully in his sleep., as the aged tend to do."

"But he just looked, well, _too_ peaceful…" Alanna frowned, "as if the gods had laid him out themselves."

Lord Oppenheimer gave a weak laugh, but it was not a mirthful one, "I hardly think the gods care to arrange our fallen bodies Alanna, they have far more important things to attend to. As do you and I! Now let's stop this silly questioning, dwelling on death will get you no where, it will just depress you. All things live and die Alanna, it's part of the cycle of life."

"I know," she sighed, "but that doesn't mean I'm happy about it"

"Why?" Lord Oppenheimer questioned, "if there was no such thing as death, all carnivorous animals would die of starvation—you yourself would not have enjoyed that fine turkey dinner we had last night—but more importantly, the earth would crowd and there'd be no room to fit us all. Death keeps things in check, it provides incentive for people to be careful with their lives and not waste it. Sometimes…sometimes people die for a greater good, to fulfill a greater purpose. Their death may be sad, but in the end it is necessary, useful for the good of mankind…"

Alanna shook her head, thinking deeply—Lord Oppenheimer sounded like the Code of Chivalry! Dying for a greater good? Fulfilling a great purpose? It was like the knight's honorbound oath of fidelity, right there.

"I'm sure Old Patrick would have understood, I'm sure he would have wanted it this way," Lord Oppenheimer concluded, dumping the last ruby vial in the pot. "Ah-ha! By the Hag, I think it's finally complete!"

Alanna snapped back to reality upon hearing Lord Oppenheimer's triumphant cry of delight. She was still confused about some of what he had said—what did he mean, Old Patrick would have understood? Understood what, the necessity and grandeur of his own death? —but clearly this moment marked a huge accomplishment in her overlord's life, which she was duty-bound to celebrate.

"Champaign, grab the Champaign glasses! It's complete! The Manhattan Project is complete!"

Together they toasted the mage's work in the warm glow of the firelight. Today had been sad, they had lost a dear friend, but there was always tomorrow. There was always another day. The world went on and on and on…

…**Saphron…**

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**_A/N:_ Still in finals season. I'm trying my best kids...

_Next chapter:_ Jon goes on a raid with the Brotherhood...what's going to go wrong now? Will he _ever_ find Alanna? Will he ever see her in her ball gown?-! Yes, lol, he will. But first Saraiya has got a little fun up her sleeve for him...stay tuned for next week's episode of Homeward Bound.

_PS:_ My foreshadowing is soooo obvious...too obvious? What do you guys think? Am I like, hitting you over the head with it-obvious, or no? Thanks for the feedback :)


	25. Chap 25 Preparations for Balls & Heists

**Homeward Bound: An Alternate Version of In the Hands of the Goddess**

**By Saphron**

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_A/N_: All right, I assume people are enjoying this story, but if you're not, there's a very simple solution—don't read it! Duh! No one is making you! Lol. Ok. Now that I got THAT off my chest, continue, please.

Excellent, I guess my foreshadowing isn't too obvious after all…hurrah! Because you see, I don't want it to be a _total_ surprise, like, hey where in the heck did that plot come from?-!-? But at the same time I don't want to give too much away…hence, foreshadowing. Hopefully, it will all make sense in the end, unless I'm just making a mess of things, which I hope I'm not…er, right, read on, read on…

Oh, and some of you are quite perceptive, so kudos to you! I won't tell you if what you've guessed is right or not, but you'll see soon enough ;)

And thanks to Wanderer of Dreams for pointing out that the prayer _should_ have ended "so mote it might be," NOT amen. Cleary, I've forgotten a few details about the land of Tortall. When I eventually go back and re-edit this thing I'll try and fix up all the little discrepancies.

And finally: I hope you enjoy the Irish slang! (Binney is from the Emerald Isle, remember?)

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**Chapter 25 – Preparations for Balls and Heists**

_"Preparation is the be-all of good trial work. Everything else-felicity of expression, improvisational brilliance-is a satellite around the sun. Thorough preparation is that sun." _

-- Louis Nizer

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_Carthak, Crow's Lane:_

Alanna tucked the last corner of her dress into the elegant wooden chest, locking it tightly with both key and spell. Lord Oppenheimer had given it to her as a gift—along with two pairs of stockings, some soft slippers, an embroidered shall, a diamond bracelet, an opal necklace, a lady's delicate fan, several bodices, corsets, and undergarments, a full makeup kit, and a slender silver circlet dotted with a sparkling amethyst gem.

Alanna thought it was all far too extravagant, but Lord Oppenheimer assured her the chest and its contents were standard fair for the ladies of the Carthaki court. Alanna felt awkward receiving such expensive items—she was always the proud, independent sort, for example, the only reason she had let George give her Moonlight was because she so desperately needed a good, solid war-horse—but the pleading look in her lord friend's eyes made her accept, with gratitude. Clearly, he had the money to spare, which, when she thought about it, made sense—he never went on extravagant shopping trips and his house was furnished simply, almost spartanly. If he was willing to shower her with fine expensive gifts, who was she to complain?

Alanna sighed as she pulled the slender gold key from the trunk's luck, tucking it deep into her pocket where it wouldn't fall out. Her silks were packed, her overlord had finished his great experiment, and the two were ready to hit the road. Arrangements were all ready made for their arrival in the capital, and Binney would stay to watch over the tower in the Lord's absence; all though, Alanna was worried she wasn't up to the job so soon after her husband had passed.

"Blimey! I'll be fine lassy, don't yez worry yer pretty head 'bout old Binney," the woman cooed, tidying up the mess Alanna had made while throwing everything she owned in her suitcase. Binney tsked as she picked up one of Alanna's fallen breastbands, "Yez made a right hames of packin', yez did! Yer drawers all over th' place, it's right arseways." The female squire blushed and snatched it back—so she wasn't exactly the neatest person in the world, who cared!

Partly to change the subject, and partly in genuine anxiety, Alanna frowned, "are you _sure_? Maybe Lord Oppenheimer could hire someone to help you over the next few weeks," she suggested, "I don't like the idea of you here all alone, what if something happened? What if someone tried to hurt you?"

Binney snorted, "who would 'ave any notion t' hurt an old woman like me? Nay, no one wants ter reef me, t'is th' young pretty sprats with their goo-goo eyes an' low necklines an' flashin' ankles that hafta worry about bein' left on their lonesome with no menfolk around t' protect their honorable virtue…ye know mine's long-gone!" She snickered, "besides, ye've been teaching me fightin' skills for weeks now, right! I can kick 'n punch 'n throw daggers wit' the best o' them, I can."

Alanna nodded, a proud smile tugging at her lips—the woman _had_ worked extremely hard to improve her martial arts abilities, and Alanna was impressed. Who knew she'd made such a good teacher after all? Despite her notoriously infamous impatience and temper, it seemed she had managed to depart a fair degree of wisdom to her eager to learn pupil.

"All though, I do a-wish Patty was 'ere to keep me company…" the old slave said with a sigh, looking sad and forlorn.

Alanna clucked sympathetically, but Binney waved her off. "Now, now, never yez mind, just try 'n 'ave a good time when yer on gur at th' ball now, yez hear! Get all dolled up for our master 'n look juicy, I'm sure he would appreciate it," she said with a wink, which caused Alanna to blush heatedly. "Ye know he likes you quite a bit…normally his head is way high up in th' clouds, an' he don' give a whit for the girlies in town, even though they'd all be happy to 'ave him, wot wit him bein rich, young, and 'andsome, but alas, he don' pay 'em no mind. _You _ however, he appears to 'ave takin' a right bloody shinin' to!"

Alanna choked on her own saliva—what was this nonsense? What was Binney implying—that Lord Oppenheimer had some sort of silly crush on her? Ridiculous! She was his slave, for Mithro's sake! And furthermore, he was an anti-social mage who only cared about his experiments, not womanizing. No, no, Binney must be mistaken, or simply mad. Mayhap her husband's death had rattled her brains a bit, to be thinking such ridiculous rubbish. Alanna opened her mouth to protest, but Binney cut her off.

"Aye, I know whatcha gonna say, that I'm a header off me crocker, I am. Well deny it all ye like lady, but t's true as the Good Saint Patty's Lucky Four Leaf Clover—speaking 'o which, I have a clover charm for ye, just in case…but right, Ol' Binney can tell these things, she can. Ah, but yer a jammy lass, so lucky t'be goin' ter a ball… why Good Golly Miss Molly, I do remember my first ball as a stunning young thing, I do! It was simply the bees knees, all the girls were jealous that Henry McGreggar took me t' the village's autumn barn dance. I wore a lovely peach satin thing, I did, me mum bought it special just fer me! Course, it was right wet 'n rainin' outside, an' I didn't want ter ruin the hem of me dress, so do ye know what Henry did? He laid 'is cloak right in a big ol' puddle for me t'step over! The year was…"

Alanna took a seat, knowing Binney's trip down memory lane would take a while. It was all right though, she was done packing and they wouldn't leave for a few more days, as Lord Oppenheimer still had to make some final arrangements for the tower manor. In other words, spells to keep potential thieves away, so no one could touch his eccentric collection of wizarding items. He didn't own much, but the variety of magical objects he possessed were typically rare and often dangerous, and he couldn't risk some foolish young rogue pilfering it all.

Perched on the edge of the wooden truck, Alanna smiled. She wasn't a huge fan of balls, but that was probably because she had always attended them as a _boy!_ Alanna would hardly describe herself as "feminine," but perhaps…perhaps she'd have a good time after all doing the typical teenage girl thing. You never knew. It could happen. It would be an experience at least, to be a real girl for a change, not a male squire or worthless slave…

Alanna tucked her knees into her chest, eagerly listening to Binney's story of the young and strapping Henry McGreggar, toast of the town. She found that if she substituted the name "Henry" for the name "Jonathan," Binney's tale suddenly became far more interesting…

* * *

_Carthak, The Sandlot Inn:_

"So where are th' stables located again?" Saraiya questioned, for what seemed like the hundredth time. Jon sighed; he had all ready gone over—in exhaustive detail—the complete design of Lord Penikth's manor, from the stables to the women's chambers to the guardhouse at the front gate. Still she interrogated him, eager for any scrap of information that could help her plan succeed. The plan was simple really; Saraiya would take twenty of her best men to Lord Penikth's house, where they'd spell the guards asleep (one of the Knights of the Brotherhood had the gift, as did the Lady Chief herself), sneak into the man's bedroom, hold him at knife point until he surrounded his most valuable possessions, silence him with a simple cloth gag, and high tale it out of there with no one the wiser. Of course, the plan wasn't foolproof, heists never were, but it was solid enough. Magic did wondrous things to aide a good thief.

Of course, integral to the plan was Jonathan's intimate knowledge of the layout of the house--without which, the Brotherhood would have had to simply jump Lord Penikth when he was in town one day, and who knew when _that_ would be--so of course, Saraiya had demanded his full attention. Sometimes it appeared as if she never left his side! He was given a room in the inn for free (which Saraiya often barged into, without so much as a curtesy knock) and three square meals a day (which again, Saraiya often interrupted), while the Lady Chief contacted her intricate spy network to gather information on the whereabouts of the mysterious Crow's Lane. All in exchange for Jonathan's cooperation.

Jon complied, knowing her aide in finding Alanna would be invaluable, but that didn't mean he was thrilled about it. Saraiya wasn't exactly pleasant company…

Seeing him scowl—which was normally her job—Saraiya poked him in the chest—_hard._

"Ow! What was that for?" Jon demanded, rubbing his clavicle.That hurt!

"For rollin' yer eyes on me! Can I 'elp it if I want ter get the job done right?" She sniffed.

"Of course, but you don't need to stab me…" Jon grumbled.

Just to annoy him, Saraiya again jabbed him with the tip of her index finger, causing him to growl in vexation. She practically giggled at his irritated response—he looked so funny when he glowered!

Jon's grimace turned into a grin as he realized the Lady Chief was just fooling with him. He laughed, deciding to take her slightly misplaced sense of humor as a sign of goodwill, and poked her right back.

Her eyes widened in shock—no one dared poke the Chief of the Brotherhood! She smacked his hand away—_hard_—and pounced, tackling him to the ground and twisting his right arm behind his back.

"Ah! Ok, ok, mmf—you win!" He cried, his voice muffled by the fact that his face was pressed tightly to the floor.

Saraiya smirked smugly, a toothy grin lingering on her face as she snickered, "say Uncle."

"Mmunncle? Whatff?" Jon couldn't believe he was in this situation, a girl half his weight had wrestled him to the floor in the blink of eye, without so much as batting her eyelashes. Mithros! She reminded him so much of Alanna, right down to her fiery temper and martial arts prowness. Whoever said girls were useless at defending themselves was a complete moron. Jon was the one who needed protection right now!

"Yeah! In Carthak ye say Uncle as a sign o' surrender, so say it ye lout, or else."

Jon would have cursed if his lips could have formed the words without meeting the cold hard floor of the Sandlot Inn, but he gave it his most valiant effort anyway, "mmfrick mmoof."

"Wot was that? Didn't sound like Uncle, no it didn't…"

Exhaling noisily in exasperation, Jon finally yielded, "mmuncle! Mmthere, I saif mmit!"

Saraiya stood up and brushed her hands, looking satisfied. "There now, that's a good lad, glad ye learned yer lesson. So right, how long was the inner courtyard again? And tell me more about this fountain…"

Jon groaned, rubbing his aching wrists. It looked like it would be a long night…

…**Saphron…**

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_A/N_: I hope you guys liked the Irish slang that I researched, I tried to put it all in context so you would know what it meant. Saraiya's quite the charmer, isn't she? -snorts- Oh, but I like her anyway, I do indeed...

Ah, so I extended the story a smidge, so I think we're looking at another ten chapters at least. Mm, maybe less (maybe more!) we'll see. I know you guys are anxious to see Jon and Alanna reunited, but don't worry, it will happen soon. After all, Alanna's on her way to Carthak (the city--the capital city's name is the same as the counry's, remember?) Soo... Unless, of course, I throw a kink into the plan. Gee, I never do that, do I? Tehehe. I hope you guys are all (still) enjoying this! I write it for you y'know :) --so a trillion thanks for reviewing!

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	26. C 26 Midwinter Spirit of Thick White Goo

**Homeward Bound: An Alternate Version of In the Hands of the Goddess**

**By Saphron**

_A/N:_ Oh god, part songfic, with of all things…Mariah Carey! (Disclaimer: she owns the song) Oh, but I couldn't help it…the holiday spirit has got me :-D I was feeling festive, so there's eggnog galore in this short little chappie. Yay! (Er, sorry it is so short...)

By the way, if you go back and reread some parts, you'll realize there was evidence pointing to Lord Oppenheimer's little crush all along—some of my readers even guessed it ages ago! I try and hint at these things, y'know…it's like a mystery…all the little details count, just remember that. ;)

And finally, I want you to know I really appreciate it when you guys say my writing has improved; that means the world to me. I'm an intended English writer—I need my writing to not suck, lol. My whole career kind of depends on it…so yeah, the encouragement is fabulous. If my writing does indeed improve, I thank fanfiction and books, because lots of times reading other's work inspires you to write your own. Usually I feel motivated to turn out another chapter after reading a different fic! So yeah. Yay for reading!

On with the show!

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**Chapter 26: The Midwinter Spirit of Thick White Goo**

_Carthak, the city: _

The Sandlot Inn was buzzing with noise, as everyone gathered to celebrate for some pre-Midwinter festivities. Tomorrow night they'd enact their raid on Penikth's house, but tonight, ah tonight they were free to enjoy themselves! The days were growing cooler and the holiday spirit was in the air. Wreaths of garland and sprigs of mistletoe hung in doorways and ceiling candles, red and gold banners were strung about the barstools and windowpanes, a pine tree in the corner was bedecked with sparkling glass balls, and everywhere people were cheery, toasting their friends and loved ones, and in general having a merry old time.

"Here laddy, th' Chief says ter bring ya an eggnog, on her!" One of the Arabian Knights hiccupped, handing Jon a big frothy mug of thick white goo, most of which sloshed onto his clean white shirt. Jon grimaced—now he'd have to do laundry, _again_—and sniffed the cup's contents gingerly. What _was_ this strange stuff?

Saraiya grinned, seeing his wary expression. "T'is the midwinter drink! Doncha 'ave it in Tortall?" She asked, eying him curiously.

"Nope," he replied, taking a cautious sip. "Hey, this is good!"

"'Course it is," Saraiya snorted, "would I give ye poison?"

Jon looked at her askance and muttered, "actually, you just might."

She cuffed him lightly on the back of his head, causing his face to take a nosedive into the goblet. He surfaced with a dollop of froth perched on the bridge of his nose, "hey!" he exclaimed. Mithros he was getting tired of the girl!

She snickered, "too bad ye'll be leavin' us soon, ye were right entertain' t'play with."

"Speaking of leaving…" Jon said slowly, wiping his shirtsleeve to clean his face, "have you any word about Crow's Lane?"

"Aye," Saraiya nodded, "me information network has told me tha' Crow's Lane is a tower 'n a small but hearty fief located a day's ride south. The Lord who lives there is an anti-social mage who rarely comes ter court, preferin' ter stay home and work on his experiments. That's why no one has heard o' the place, th' fella hardly ever pokes his nose out! Only for really big, important social events, like that party Penikth threw, and th' Emperor's upcomin' ball, most likely. Ter get there, ye gotta head down th' main road south, branch off when ye get to Pine Forest, and take the trail inwards a bit till ye hit th' manor. It shouldn't be hard ter miss from there, th' thing's fifty feet tall!"

The light in Jon's eyes gleamed—finally! He knew where Alanna was! All he had to do was go rescue her! He chuckled at the thought of saving his squire—a lady in need! It was so cliché, Alanna would smack him if he dared call her that. _She_ was the one who always wanted to go on great adventures and "rescue damsels in distress." But this was how the cards were laid, and it looked like Jon would have to be the rescue hero.

Saraiya's eyes narrowed, "I should'na told ye that…"

"Why not?" Jon questioned, looking puzzled, "it was part of our arrangement, remember?"

"Aye. But now yer probably gonna go run off to find yer little love and leave me 'n me men high 'n dry," Saraiya said slowly, glancing away from his gaze.

Jon decided to ignore that "little love" bit—he and Alanna were _not_ involved, even if, well, recently he had become rather confused about certain…feelings…he had developed…but still! Most definitely not involved! Right, well, deciding to disregard that particular comment, Jon cupped Saraiya's chin and turned her face towards him. Normally she gazed fearlessly at all she spoke too—it wasn't like her to avoid eye contact. He infusered his tone with as much sincerity as he could muster, and said, "Saraiya, listen. I promised you I'd help, and I will! I won't back out on my word."

"That's what they all say," she growled, although her tone was a decibel too soft. Did Jon detect a hint of sadness from the Lady Chief?

Jon shook his head, "look Saraiya, what I failed to mention before…well, I'm a full grown Knight of the Realm, I mean a real knight, of the King of Tortall—" here she gasped and dropped her jaw in shock—"and as such I am an honorable man, sworn to my oath to protect and helps others in need. I won't leave you, not until the job is done, ok?"

Silently, Saraiya gulped, and then nodded. For some reason she felt compelled to trust the piercing blue eyes of the handsome young man who had wandered into her inn and boldly requested her help. There was an earnestness about him, a sense of dignity, and morality. The Lady Chief rarely liked—and even more rarely trusted—men, she had been hurt one too many times by them to be so open with her heart, but there was something about this Jonathan of Tortall. Something about him indeed…

"So," she coughed, "are ye gonna drink that eggnog, or am I?"

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_Carthak, Crow's Lane: _

Alanna hummed as she made dinner. She couldn't remember where she picked up the jolly little tune, but for some reason it was stuck in her head, try as she might to get it out.

"I don't want a lot for Midwinter, there is just one thing I need…" she sang, whipping the cream in her bowl into a fluffy white frosting. "I don't care about the presents, underneath the Midwinter tree…I just want you for my own, more than you could ever know! Make my wish come true... All I want for Midwinter is YOUUUUU... _YEAHHH YEAHHH!_" She belted, her voice carrying across the kitchen and throughout the tower.

Binney came barging in, "Blimey O'Reilly's trousers, what _was_ that racket? I heard yellin'! Who've been hurt? Is it Mr. Sunshine, me poor precious kitty? I swear I heard her a-howlin'…"

Lord Oppenheimer was a beat behind her, as he had to clamor down from the top of his tower room, whereas Binney had merely been a stone's throw away in the main antechamber dusting some vases. He looked around wildly, equally confused by the noise—what in the Hag's name had just _shrieked_?

Alanna scowled in offense—her singing did not resemble cat howling, thankyouverymuch! And she toldher friends that, trying to control her rising temper.

The slave woman chuckled, "aye, so _that's_ what it was…I could'na tell, I thought somethin' was a-dying…"

Lord Oppenheimer winced painfully, "er, not that your, er, _singing_—I presume it _was_ singing? Right, well, not that it wasn't lovely, but ah…y'see…our ears…well…they can't take it anymore!" He burst out, causing Alanna to gasp in fury. Before Lord Oppenheimer could blink, a great big glob of frosting was lodged firmly in his hair. He glanced up and wiped off the thick white goo. Alanna stood grinning, still clutching her spoon in typical catapult readying position, and tried to bite down her laughter.

With a quirk of his mouth, the mage flicked his fingers, causing the entire bowl of frosting to rise in the hair and turn upside down—right on top of Alanna's head.

She shrieked—_loudly_. "Oh, you are so _dead!_" She cried.

The food fight that subsequently broke out became legendary. Cake batter was splattered on the walls, all three participants were covered head to toe in fine cooking powder, and Mr. Sunshine the cat ended up with vanilla frosting in his whiskers.

Midwinter Spirit was in the air.

…**Saphron…**

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_A/N_: All right, I know this was a bit of a filler chapter, and it didn't really move the plot forward much…but honestly, I'm studying my ass off for finals, and I need a break! The holidays are on my mind so I thought it'd be perfect to write about it. If you're annoyed by the lack of substantial action, I'm sorry. Next chapter the raid will happen for sure, I promise, ok? And at least here Jon found out where Alanna is located and how to find her so, it wasn't completely useless... Seeya soon!


	27. Chapter 27 The Raid

**Homeward Bound: An Alternate Version of In the Hands of the Goddess**

**By Saphon**

_A/N_: Thanks to everyone who wished me luck on my finals!-!-! I have two tomorrow, one on Thursday, and then I'm DONE…and _that_ means I'll be able to spend every waking moment completing this fic! HURRAH!

Also, do you remember way back in the beginning, I described Lord Penikth's house as extremely complicated? With tons of passageways and rooms and courtyards, and Jon and Alanna rarely bumped into each other it was so big? Yeah. Just pointing out my amazing ability to think ahead. ;) Ok, now that I'm done tooting my own horn, on with the **LONGEST CHAPTER **I HAVE WRITTEN SO FAR FOR THIS FIC –bows politely to audience, aka: readers-

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**Chapter 27 – The Raid **

_Carthak, the city, Lord Penikth's manor:_

"OK, does everyone understand th' plan?" Saraiya asked one last time, peering closely at the men huddled by her side. She was greeted by silent nods of approval. They were ready and waiting for her command.

The Lady Chief felt a burst of pride for her men—here they were, risking their necks to bring glory to the Brotherhood and revenge their friend's beating, trusting _her_ completely to see them through any potential danger. Saraiya knew she'd sacrifice her life for any one of her men, and they knew it too—such was the responsibility of being a leader. She was content with her decision, however foolhardy it may seem, not because she craved the power of being Chief—although she certainly enjoyed it—but because the Brotherhood had given her a place to call her own. They were her family; she loved them more than life itself. And tonight, as one, they'd do what they did best—rob fromt eh rich and give to the poor, namely, themselves!

Jon twitched, suddenly nervous, and subconsciously grabbed Lightning's hilt at his side. True, the sword was smaller and lighter than his own blade, and if given a choice he'd take his steady foil back home any day, but Lightening was a good, solid sword, and Jon knew it wouldn't disappoint him. It had gotten Alanna out of more than one tight spot before—Jon almost suspected it had a life of its own—and mayhap it would take a shining to him too. Saraiya didn't anticipate the need for swords, but all her men were nonetheless outfitted in a variety of weapons, mostly daggers, from head to toe and in between. Even Jon, who was the least adept with blade-throwing and fighting, had a knife in his boot and another tucked in the crook of his back. The Brotherhood had been sharpening their skills for days, in anticipation of tonight's big raid.

The sky was a dark grey, almost charcoal black, although occasionally a half-moon would peek from behind a blanket of clouds, giving off a pale and eerie light that cast long shadows on the cobblestone road. Saraiya gave the hand signal that meant advance forward, and silently as cats her men stalked closer to Lord Penikth's manor. Saraiya and her best wingman, Rascal, the other gifted thief, tiptoed forwards. In the quiet of the night they heard the guard's murmuring and shuffling in place, as they slyly took their place across from each other near the archway.

A steady amber-colored stream of magic slipped from Saraiya's fingers and began encircling the right guard's ankles, as Rascal's spell took the left's. Saraiya frowned in concentration, willing her gift to work. Although sleep was relatively easy to manipulate given the fact that it was something the body did naturally, the sleeping spell didn't always work, especially if she was tired or distracted, and that was one variable of the plan that could go wrong. Fortunately, tonight their tag-teamed flanking strategy worked perfectly, just as planned.

"Ach, this job is th' pits," one of them yawned, stretching his arms to the sky to clear his head.

"I 'gree," his companion mumbled, while his eyelashes flashed rapidly. Was it rather warm outside all of sudden? He just felt so cozy…like he wanted to curl up and take a night right there…

"Do you…" the guard never finished his sentence. He was slumped against the wall in moments, jaw slack, a line of spittle dangling from his mouth, a light snore whistling from his nose. Jackaroo the locksmith quickly managed to tweak the gates locks, opening the way for the Brotherhood to enter. Saraiya chuckled silently as she stepped over the guards' prone slumbering bodies; step one, accomplished!

Her men followed, rubbing their hands in anticipation. The hard part was over! The rest of the manor should be fast asleep, so assuming they stayed that way—ie., the men didn't cause any noise to wake them up—they should be in the clear. Nonetheless, all remained vigilant, wary of an insomniac servant traveling the halls at night in search of a warm glass of milk, or a stray beast that barked at their arrival. However, after navigating the complicated passageways Jon had outlined for them, the worst they came upon was a tiny kitten, whose feeble meow couldn't rouse a feather-light sleeper, let alone an entire household.

Jon scooped down and patted it on the head as he passed, taking the lead along with Saraiya as they trotted down the twists and turns of the marbled halls. The Lady Chief smiled grimly to herself, acutely aware that she could have never accomplished this mission without Jon's help—the Knights of the Brotherhood would surely have gotten lost in the maze that was this house! The Tortallan was like a godsend…their lucky charm!

Normally, Jon's code of honor would never have allowed him to steal from another man, it went entirely against what he believed in as a Knight sworn to the Realm. But this was not a normal situation. Lord Penikth had robbed him of his freedom, brutally beat him senseless, and deprived him of his squire and only true companion in this godforsaken country. Simply in financial terms, the Lord owed him an obscene amount of money in back-wages, which he was simply collecting now. You couldn't put a price on freedom, but if you could, the nobleman owed him even more. _I'm just taking what I rightfully deserve,_ Jon justified to himself.

Jon had obviously seen the wealthy decorative home before, but Saraiya's men were in awe of how lavish the manor was. These nobles were ridiculous! They lived in such luxury, while common folk lived in squalor on the streets. It was right bloody unfair, in their humble opinion. Good thing they were, in their own small way, changing that socioeconomic disparity tonight.

Finally, they reached the master bedroom. Here lay the _real_ test of the evening—waking up Lord Penikth. If he awoke before they managed to slip a black-gloved hand over his mouth to cast the silencing spell he could scream, and rouse his personal guards. Then they'd be in _big_ trouble. But if they managed to silence him before he could shout out, a steely dagger would do the trick, and he'd surrender all his most valuable possessions. It all depended on stealth.

Saraiya pointed, choosing her companions. Rascal, Jon, and three others were selected to follow her, while the others stood guard outside, ready to rush in if there was trouble, or give the alarm cry if the guards awoke.

The door creaked as she lightly pushed it open, and the Lady Chief winced, breath caught tightly in her throat. Mercifully, the nobles stayed sound asleep, and she was able to slink inside and tread softly to Lord Penikth's big fluffy bed. A firm but delicate hand stole across his features, as Rascal covered his wife's, and each emitted a pulse of quick magic that numbed the noble's lips. The magical bolt was enough to shock them awake, and Lord Penikth sat up wildly.

"Whas' tha'?" He questioned thickly, his voice muffled yet still audible. Saraiya frowned, clearly the spell hadn't worked properly. It was enough so he didn't shout at the top of his lungs, but still. It wasn't flawless. He could still talk. Drats!

Rascal had even less luck than his boss. Lady Panya arose with a fearful squeak, and clutched the bedcovers to her chin in panic. Who were these black-clothed men in her bedroom? Mithros, they must be thieves! Or murders! Or even worse, _rapists!_

"Don't you touch me! Don't you dare touch me!" she shrieked in a high-pitched, whiny voice. Again, it wouldn't rouse the dead, but it was a decibel too high for Saraiya's likes.

"Shut yer trap, no one wants ter touch ye," the Lady Chief growled, slapping a hand over the mousy woman's mouth. If she couldn't shut her up with magic, then she could at least shut her up manually by hand—literally!

"Wha' mmgoin' onf mmhere?" Lord Oppenheimer stammered out, a look of utter confusion on his face. Why wasn't his tongue working properly? Last time he remembered he was sober…although, he _had_ had that fifth glass of wine that night…

Quickly Saraiya explained—a steely blade leveled at his throat. "We want yer most valuable possessions—gold, jewels, coins, the works—or else," she said coolly, hiding the intimate pleasure she got from robbing the fools blind.

Lord Penikth gauffed in disbelief, "as imf! I'll never mmgive myou my mmvaluables!" he said haughtily. Clearly, he had missed the point of the knife at his throat. The extremely _sharp_ knife, that is.

Sariaya raised a quizzical eyebrow, and motioned to Rascal, who quickly grabbed Lady Panya by her mop of elaborately twisted hair and tilted her head back, exposing the tender white skin of her neck. The noblewoman shuddered in agony. They were messing up her hair!

From the new angle of her head she suddenly spotted Jonathan, who had been hanging back in the corner of the bedroom. The result was not good.

"YOU!" she cried, pointing wildly, "YOU TRICKED ME!"

All eyes turned to Jonathan curiously.

"Rascal!" Saraiya hissed, warning him to shut her up. Rascal tried his hardest but the lady squirmed in his arms, desperately trying to get a good look at Jonathan.

"I thought you were making love to me when really it was that stupid stable boy!" she seethed, spiting venom with every word. If looks could kill, Jon would have ended up dead on the floor in seconds.

Saraiya shot Jon a pointed look—what was this about 'making love' now? But Jon shook his head, as if to say, 'I'll tell you some other time, when we're ah, not busy robbing someone…'

"MMWHAFT?" Lord Penikth cried. His wife had slept with another man? What? When? Where? How? Why? Oh gods! The scandal! The humiliation! The horror! It was one thing for him to jump in bed with every pretty young thing that caught his eye, but it was another entirely for _her_ to cheat on him!

Saraiya looked desperate, the nobles were being way too loud! She slapped Lady Panya—hard—and the woman quieted, clearly in shock. In all her years as a noble she had _never_ been so mistreated.

"I'll warn ye one last time," Saraiya intoned harshly, "give us th' gold or we _will_ draw blood."

Lord Penikth gulped, still reeling from his wife's betrayal. However, he knew the Lady Chief's dark tone meant business. Mayhap she wouldn't kill him, but he wanted to survive the evening with all his fingers and toes attached, thank-you-very-much, even if that meant sacrificing a few valuables. Suddenly the idea struck him—the perfect way to save his neck _and_ get revenge on his dirty slut of a wife! He swallowed, hard, and pointed to the dresser bureau.

"T-there, mmin t-the mmdrawers," he stammered, as two of the Brotherhood Knights bounded swiftly across the room to empty the contents of the dresser. It was locked. Saraiya growled again, and the nobleman muttered, "mmthe key, it's arounf my wife's mmneck. Take herf precious mmgems, th' filthy whore."

Lady Panya roused from her shocked revelry with a shriek. They were taking her key! Her precious key to all her jewels! Noooo! How could her husband let them take her jewels? Why not his priceless collection of art? Why not the bags of coins he hid under the floorboards? Why her jewels? Why? Why! Just because she had slept with some stable boy? Oh gods, her husband was cruel! She knew he went behind her back all the time, she had caught him in the act! But oh no, heaven forbid, if a _woman_ cheated she was ostracized as a harlot! Curse that Tortallan boy for outing her, a thousand curses on his head!

The thieves' eyes lit up as the drawer spilled open. A whole stash of priceless gems greeted them; rubies, diamonds, sapphires, emeralds galore—everything jewel in the kingdom seemed to be nestling in the soft silks lying in the bureau! They were rich beyond their wildest dreams!

Saraiya motioned for her men to hurry up; they seemed to be in shock from the sight of the treasure horde. Jackaroo held a diamond the size of his thumbnail in the palm of his hand, utterly mesmerized by the dazzling light glinting off the jewels' cut edges as it twinkled in the moonlight…but Saraiya's bark snapped him out of it. Quickly the men scooped the gems in a bag and made for the door. Rascal and Saraiya pulled cloth strips out of their pockets, gagged the nobles, and tied them to the bed. It's not like they'd be stuck like that forever and starve to death, the guards would find them later, eventually. In the morning, when the thieves were long gone…

Quickly her men scurried out of the bedroom and down the halls, desperately seeking the fresh open nighttime air. The maze was slightly less confusing on the way back, but still Jon had to take the lead, and direct the men past this statue and that, down this hall and through this courtyard. Finally they made it, past the sleeping guards, out the doorway, and into the silent black night. Within minutes they had slipped into the shadows of the city; not a soul in sight witness to their crimes.

When they arrived at the Sandlot Inn they rejoiced, emptying the bag's contents on the table and cheering heartily. Even though it was far too late, a party started. Sarge the innkeep whipped up glass after glass of frothy spiked eggnog and pumpkin ale, and Jackaroo tucked his fiddle under his neck to strike up a dancing tune. The festivities ahd officially begun!

Saraiya smiled, grateful their plan had gone off without a hitch. She had gotten worried when the silencing spell hadn't worked properly, but it appeared the noble's cries had been too soft to rouse the manor. Although if they had waited there much longer, they might not have been so lucky…it appeared the only reason Lord Penikth had been so willing to part with his lady's jewels was because the foolish woman had admitted to her affair after spotting Jon… So actually, when she thought about it, that really meant they owed their success to Jon _doubly—_first for outlining the passageways that allowed them to navigate the house so successfully, and second for propelling Lady Panya to confess to her adultery. The Lady Chief had said it before and she'd say it again—the boy was a godsend!

"Jonathan m'boy, ye did it Ye were our lucky charm!" She cried, throwing her arms around his neck. Jonathan looked startled but returned the hug, simply grateful that the night had ended so auspiciously. Suddenly, she pulled back, grabbed him roughly by the back of his neck, and yanked him down. "I'm so happy I could kiss ye!" she whispered, before doing just that.

Her men whooped as Jonathan was pulled into the embrace, too startled to respond. With Lady Panya he had been revolted, the woman was twice his age, pregnant with another man's child, and had the personality of a rotting log. Saraiya was a bit gruff around the edges, but she was a supple young woman in good physical shape, who had a hearty sense of humor, and a vibrant nature that radiated passionate dedication, leadership, and skill. Jonathan had been twisting and turning in beds for weeks now over his strange newfound feelings towards Alanna, and now with Saraiya's lips on his own he was even more confused. He hadn't really considered Saraiya as a possible love interest, after all, he was due to leave her any day now, but at the moment…well, the kiss wasn't half bad…and he was only human, after all…

He returned her passion with ardor, and again the men whooped in celebration. They rarely saw her Chief with a man! Mithros knows many of them had suggested—some more obviously than others—that they would welcome her as an addition to their beds, and didn't mind at all her dominant role as leader (in fact, some found such a reversal of the typical power roles surprisingly refreshing!) but Saraiya had made it explicitly clear that she planned to keep her personal life and professional life separate from one another, no matter what. Some of her men were disappointed at first, but they quickly got over the fact. After all, there were plenty of fish in the sea! Although none quite as original as their Lady Chief...

The Knights of the Arabian Brotherhood were rich, drunk, and happy...who could ask for more? The party raged on for hours, until every last drop of booze was drank and every last man lay passed out cold on the floor--except, of course, for Jonathan, who lay entwined in the arms of the Lady Chief.

…**.Saphron…**

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_A/N:_ -GASP!- Jon and Saraiya?-!-? "But Saphron, you told us this was an _A/J_ fic…what's going on here?" I can hear you all demand. Tehehe. Curve balls my dears, curve balls. Can't let this story get too predictable, now can I? Well anyway, I hoped you all enjoyed this super long chapter, I kind of blew off studying for econ to write it lol, so if you haven't reviewed yet…please, please do so now. Some of you have listed this as a favorite fic or story alert and yet I have not heard form you once! I'd like to hear from all of you out there who haven't poked their noses out yet, get some feedback on what you think, etc. etc. And to all my loyal reviewers who've been following this story since day one…I heart you! Please keep up the fabulous reviews, they encourage me so mcuh :-D


	28. Chapter 28 Let's Talk About Sex

_Homeward Bound: An Alternate Version of in the Hand of the Goddess_

_By Saphron_

**_1) WARNING_**: This chapter contains the word "sex." It also deals, albeit briefly/vaguely, with the process therein of said word. Do not read if you are not mature enough to handle any direct or indirect discussions/explanations of sexual intercourse. Thank you.

_P.S_. I bet you just giggled at the word "sexual intercourse," didn't you:P S'ok, I did too lol.

_2) _So I know it's been ages since you guys heard what's going on in Tortall and I'm really sorry 'bout that, I'm just going to finish up this whole messy love triangle affair thing and then get back to the main plot next chapter, all righty:-)

So I tried to review reply to anyone who left a signed review last chapter (because then there's a nifty button that allows me too) so if you weren't signed in I'm sorry, I couldn't hit reply, but thank you nonetheless for the reviews! I should have gotten everyone else…so check your messages people! That is all :)

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**Chapter 28 -- Let's Talk About Sex**

"_Let's talk about sex, baby  
Let's talk about you and me  
Let's talk about all the good things  
And the bad things that may be."_

_-- _Salt 'n Pepa

_Carthak, the city:_

Sunshine streaked through the small oval window on the east side of the room. A beam of piercing light traveled across the smooth-worn floorboards, creeped up the side of the bed, and darted into Jon's eyes, causing him to stir with a groan. His jaw creaked as a he stifled a yawn. Was it morning all ready? Mithros his head hurt, it felt like a woodsman was chopping down a tree between his ears! He shut his eyes, tight, attempting to block out the pain and return to peaceful slumber, but once he was awake he couldn't fall back asleep. Years of getting up at dawn for knight training had programmed his body to ignore his mental desires and start stirring for the day, whether he liked it or not.

Jon sighed and turned over, eyes still closed, and bumped into something soft. A faint scent of pumpkins drifted into his nose and he sniffed curiously. It smelled like…pumpkin ale!

Jon's eyes shot open. Lying next to him, looking content, was the Chief of the Brotherhood, Saraiya.

Jon blinked. He held his breath, getting his bearings. What was he doing in bed with the Lady Chief…? Soon the events of last night began to filter through his mind, first as an unsteady trickle, but soon as a mighty roar. Images of the raid and celebration party and ale and dancing flashed brightly on the screen inside his head, phosphorant images of wild reckless times.

While Jon was contemplating the night's events, Saraiya's eyes fluttered open, as the beam of light attacked her too. Suddenly she let out a piercing scream and Jon tumbled head over heels out of bed, landing with a hearty thump on the wooden floor.

"Ow," he muttered, springing to his feet and grabbing a nearby pillow to hide his er, manliness.

Saraiya clutched the sheets to her and glared daggers at him. "What. Happened. Last. Night," she said slowly, biting each word with a grimace.

Jon looked sheepish as he stood before completely exposed, except for the small pillow clutched below his waste. Mithros, why did it have to be so small? (The pillow! Not his manliness…)

"Er…" he offered unhelpfully, attempting a boyish smile, as if to say, 'what? Who, me? I'm innocent, I swear…'

Saraiya closed her eyes and muttered, "this is so _not_ happening…"

Jon winced. Did she really regret last night _that_ much? From what the court ladies had all told him, he thought he was pretty damn good when it came to these sort of carrying ons…maybe his ah, style, was more suited to Tortallan women than Carthaki women then…

"If ye say a _word_ o' this to my men, I'll skin ye alive," she whispered hoarsely.

Jon scratched the back of his neck and tried to tug his hair down into place, where it was sticking up at odds and ends; an obvious case of bed-head.

"A gentleman never tells," he said reassuringly, "but ah, I'm afraid…well I mean, they probably all saw us, um…celebrating…last night…"

Saraiya let out a strangled gurgle and fell back onto the bed, pulling the covers up over her head, as if to pretend it all wasn't happening.

"Look, it's not that big of a deal," Jon murmured comfortingly, leaning onto the bed to pull the sheets off her head, "they know we were just excited from the raid and extremely inebriated, I'm sure they won't think less of you for ah, doing something natural that ah, most people tend to do…" here he faltered, unsure of how to talk about sex with the girl he had just slept with. With Tortallan noblewomen the next-mornings were relatively easy, aside from the fact that they tended to get a little clingy. But Jon just had to kiss their foreheads, tell them last night was the most amazing thing he had ever experienced, and exclaim how he was _so_ sorry but he just had to run, he had a big important meeting scheduled with the King's royal advisors to discuss farm taxes…he'd see her later at the ball, and would be thinking about her all day while he was stuck in that boring council chamber…only her beauty kept him going through the long day…etc. etc. But somehow, Jon didn't think this was what the Lady Chief wanted to hear.

Saraiya poked her nose out and glanced down at Jon, whose manhood was precariously protected by the tiny throw pillow. Seeing her gaze caused Jon to blush and duck for the blankets himself. Once they were both suitably covered, Jon turned to her, and looked straight into her eyes.

"Look, we need to talk about this. I know the situation is really akward, but we're friends right? And friends should be able to deal with this sort of thing like mature adults. Ok?"

Saraiya nodded, then sighed. Thinking she was upset rather than simply contemplative, Jon shook her shoulder gently, looking worried. "Look, I'm sorry," he began, "I didn't mean…I mean I shouldn't have…"

Saraiya waved his apology off, "aye laddy, ain't yer fault, I was th' one t' jump _ye,_ remember?"

Jon chuckled, trying to hide the arrogant grin plastered across his face. He couldn't help it, he just loved when women threw themselves on him, it was such an ego boost.

Saraiya's eyes narrowed, seeing his beaming expression, "now don' get cocky on me, ye here? Remember, I 'ave a room full o' hardened men downstairs who would slit yer throat in an instant if I told em ye had messed with me poor wee little heart…"

Jon quickly sobered at the thought and gulped. Forty Arabian Knights were like an angry father times ten!

"I-I admit, I was attracted to ye," she muttered gruffly, looking away to avoid his eyes, "I know ye'll be leavin' ter find yer little Alanna love, but I couldna help feelin' what I did…I'm so used to me men around me all th' time, and ye were just so new, so different…"

Jon opened his mouth, then closed it, at a lost. The girl was being so frank and honest with him…the least he could do was return the favor.

"You're right that I'll be leaving soon," he said softly, flipping a lock of her hair teasingly, "although not because I'm in love with Alanna, but because she's my squire and I have a duty to rescue her and—"

"_Hold it_," Saraiya stopped him, a hand held up for emphasis, "she's yer _squire_? How in the Hag's name does THAT work?"

Jon's eyes widened as he realized his mistake. He had totally forgotten that he had neglected to mention Alanna was a girl training in disguise to be a knight! And uh, it was completely illegal and scandalously forbidden, and if she was caught she'd probably be imprisoned in the dungeons or exiled from her homeland for life or hanged on traitor's hill. D'oh!

Briefly he explained the situation, how Alanna had always been extremely capable at the fighting arts and her twin brother, Thom, who looked exactly like her, had always wanted to be a great and powerful mage, so the two switched places—Thom went to the convent, and Alanna went to the palace. Jon was the only one who knew her secret, besides George, the King of Thieves, his mother, and her cat, Faithful. He didn't need to add the fact that Alanna had single-handedly beat Ralon of Maven, saved him from the Sweating Sickness, fought the Yandsir, beaten a full-bloodied Tusaine knight, and rode to battle before she even turned sixteen, but he did, wanting to impress on the Lady Chief the reasons he and Alanna were such good friends, and his urgent need to rescue her.

When he was done with the tale Saraiya whistled, clearly in awe, "she must be a mighty special woman, to 'ave done all that," she said softly. Jon nodded in agreement. He knew Alanna had great things in store for her, it was as bright as the pool of sunshine in the room. "Ye must really love her," Saraiya finished, her tone dry but almost wistful.

Jon started to shake his head but the girl stopped him, looking him squarely in the eye, "no, listen lad, ye do, an' I can tell from th' way you talk about her. The entire time t'was "Alanna this," "Alanna that," "she fought with all the grace of a lion," "her sword slashed like a bolt of Lightning," "it was amazing when she beat the crap out of that snot Ralon…" I've know since ye got 'ere that ye had mighty powerful feelings for her, 'though I didn't want ter believe it, but now I know for certain. An' I'm ok with it, truly I am. I mean, I knew yer stay 'ere would be temporary, that ye'd be leavin' for yer homeland where ye belong, and that's what ye should do. I'm just glad ye found a woman who can keep ye on yer toes, cuz Mithros boy, yer gonna need her, that's fer sure!"

Jonathan was silent, lost deeply in thought. He was stirred by what Saraiya had said about his feelings for Alanna. He knew deep down that more and more each day he began to see her not only as his friend and squire, but as a girl too. And not just a girl fighting to win her shield, but an actual _girl_. Love was going a bit far—in all his years at court he had never been in love, the closest he had come was falling madly for Delia, but before he left for the war he had begun to see a side of her he didn't necessarily like, a sort of hungry look in her eye, that he had seen all too often in the eyes of men greedy for power. Oh, he still thought the woman was as beautiful as the morning sun, but he didn't fancy himself in _love_ with her, not anymore. But what about Alanna? Could he…could he be in love with her, perhaps?

Jon wasn't sure. Having never been truly in love, he didn't know what it was supposed to feel like. Suddenly he realized he was still in bed with Saraiya and had been silent for a long time, and it was extremely rude to be thinking of someone else while in bed with a another girl! He'd contemplate the Alanna thing later, right now he had a friendship to salvage.

"We're still friends, right?" He asked worriedly.

"Of course, and good ones" Saraiya murmured, a small smile breaking free, "'though like I said before, one word o' this and I really _will_ skin ye alive!"

Jon grinned and palmed her hand, kissing it softly before bounding out of a bed, "well _friend_, what say you we get some breakfast? I have a long walk today, and I'd like some food in my belly first…would you be so kind as to keep me company whilst I dine?"

"Oh, about that," she said airly, rolling out of the bed with the sheets still clutched to her bosom. She waved her hand, motioning him to turn around while she dressed. "I bought ye a horse. The journey 'll be ten times faster if ye ride."

Jon gasped. A horse! She had bought him a horse? That was asking too much, horses were expensive! Not for princes, but for common folk to just go around giving away horses? He could never accept! He turned around to tell her just that, that he couldn't possibly accept, and saw a flash of creamy golden skin that he most definitely should _not_ have seen. She shrieked and chucked her boot at him, hitting him squarely in the jaw.

"Just because we had a one-night stand does _not_ mean yer entitled ter look at me, you dirty rogue!" she cried.

He winced and spun quickly on his heel, rubbing his jaw where the boot had hit him. "Sorry," he muttered, "although I don't know why I'm the one apologizing, that boot _hurt_. What was it made out of, bricks or something?"

Saraiya snorted, tying the last of the laces on her shirt. "Hush up or I'll take back th' horse, and ye _know_ ye don' wanna hoof it all that way. S'ok, 's safe to turn about now."

"Saraiya, thank you so much for your generosity, but I can't accept, I—"

She shushed him with one breezily waved hand. "Think o' it as your share of the raid money we made last night, aw'right? After yer help yer entitled to more, much more, which I plan t'give ye, whether ye like it not!"

Jon knew protesting was useless, so he accepted the leather purse of gold—a small fortune—Saraiya handed him over breakfast, ignoring the snickers of her men, who apparently found the whole situation _extremely_ amusing, despite their hangovers, and mounted his knew horse, a sweet but intelligent mare, who Saraiya had picked out herself.

"I know horses laddy, and this one will serve ye well," she said, patting the horse's neck. Jon nodded in gratitude, and gazed down at his thief friend. "I'll write to you, when I get back to Tortall, ok?" he said softly, "in the meanwhile, be careful whom you steal from, I don't want to see you take on more than you can chew."

Saraiya rolled her eyes, "I should say th' same to ye! Good luck rescuing yer friend. She's a lucky lass, t'be squire to such a fine knight. Giidyup!" she hollered, smacking the horse's rump. The mare bolted into a swift canter, carrying Jon out the city gates and down the Great Central Road, towards Crow's Lane and Alanna.

Saraiya watched him into he left her sightline, nothing but a small dot on the horizon. Sighing, she turned to enter the Sandlot Inn. Her men were waiting for her; they had some majors plans to discuss, starting with what they should buy with all their newfound wealth…

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_Carthak, Crow's Lane, the next morning:_

Alanna ducked down to peer underneath the bed; nope, no lingering socks hiding there. She found that usually when she went on trips, she'd mysteriously come back missing small articles of clothing; and the dust bunnies lurking in the secret lairs underneath inn beds were often the culprit. She sneezed as one such dust monster tickled her nose, and stood up with eyes watering. Cursing, she spun on her heel and found Binney laughing at her.

Alanna grumbled but then joined in with the mirth. Normally, she only sneezed when divinity was hanging around, but mercifully it was no god that had alighted to earth to bother her, but simply a pesky ball of dust.

"Lass, I want t'talk to yez about somet'in," Binney said, motioning for Alanna to take a seat. She complied, curious about Binney's somewhat staid tone. The woman was of course still extremely distraught over her husband's death, but usually she just sounded sad, not serious.

She coughed, clearing her throat, and then began her little pre-prepared speech. "Do yez know how men an' women work?" She asked, peering at Alanna intently.

Alanna wore a confused expression on her face. What was Binney talking about? Of course she knew how men and women worked, what kind of question was that? Wait, unless she meant…_oh gods_…

"Yer about that age when me marm sat down 'n gave me "the talk," but yez don' got no mutter 'ere t'perform that par'ticular duty, so I says to meself, I says, I oughtta do it!" Binney continued, completely oblivious to Alanna's growing discomfort. Her ears were tinged pink and her knuckles white as she gripped the edge of her seat. Oh god, _please_ don't let this be one of _those_ talks…

"Do yez know what 'appens when a man an' a woman jump in ter bed togetta?"

Alanna's rosy blush quickly turned a deep fiery scarlet. Oh Mithros, Binney wanted to talk to her about _sex_!

"Of-of course I do," Alanna stammered, hoping that if Binney thought her properly knowledgeable she'd leave her alone and go away. Unfortunately, the plan didn't seem to work very well…

"Right, well, explain it ter me then…" Binney demanded, with one eyebrow quirked.

Alanna tried, honestly she did. After all, she had grown up in a barracks with tons of hormonally charged adolescent males, who obviously never shut up about the subject, but she only had _their_ perspective on the situation, not a woman's. She knew men were prtty much obsessed with it and the rough details of what body parts went where. Well, sort of…having not actually owned the particular body part that, according to her squire friends, performed all the work, she couldn't really be sure…

"Well I dunno how yez picked up a man's perspective on th' situation like that, but yer not far off. However, there are things that, as a _girl_, yez should know. For one thing, it ain't just the men that get them urges, no siree bob. Women get 'em too, and they're mighty strong…and fer anutter, men do _not_ do all th' work! 'Aven't ye ever bloody heard o' the "girl on top" position?"

Desperately, Alanna tried to escape one last time. "Is that Lord Oppenheimer calling me? Why, I think it is!" She cried, leaping out of her seat. She made a mad dash for the door but a firm hand grabbed her by the collar and yanked her back down.

"_Sit_," Binney ordered, her voice firm, almost steely.

Alanna gulped, finally resigning to her fate. Maybe the talk wouldn't be so bad?

Half and hour later she sat in shock, awed by how much she had learned. She had always known men must enjoy the act, since they spent 98 of their time trying to initiate it, but she had no idea women could enjoy it to…they always teased the men for ages before submitting to follow them to their chambers...which Alanna now realized had more to do with maidenly coyness than biology!

She admitted it; at times she was curious about it all. About the human body, about men, about…about sex. Binney had cleared up a few of the finer points for her…

The old woman ended on last note. "Ah, so now yez know," she smiled, glad that her surrogate mother job was done.

Alanna nodded, too dumbfounded to speak.

"One last thing…I want ter give yez a charm, Mithros knows I dun need it anymore, but ye…yez just might," she said with a chuckle. From around her neck she pulled a slender golden charm in the shape of a four-leap clover. It twinkled in the sunlight streaming through the windows as Alanna held it in her palm.

"What is it?" She asked curiously. Even though she wasn't much for jewelry or gold or other such silly maidenly ware, it was kind actually rather pretty.

"It's a lucky charm lass…wear it and it'll keep yez from getting' wit child," Binney replied, with a wink.

Alanna dropped it like it was hot, as if it were on fire. To keep her from getting with child! As if! That would mean she'd be having sex, which was NOT something she anticipated would happen in the near future…

"Yez never know lassy," Binney chirped, scooping the charm off the floor and gently tugging Alanna's neck down to drape it over her head. "Like I said before, Lord Oppenheimer has taken a right shinin' to yez, an' ye never know if ye could end up in his bed…"

Alanna blushed furiously! Words attempted to form in her mouth but died as a suffocated gurgle instead.

Binney wrinkled her eyes in laughter one last time, "look, ye don' _hafta_ use it…but if ye want to, it's there. That's all. Simple like, right? Now off ye go muffin! Lord Oppenheimer wants ter be off by noon!"

She patted Alanna gently on the back as she scooted the younger girl out of the room. Alanna stood outside the door for a full moment, clutching the gold pendant in her hand, mulling over the conversation she had just had. She _highly_ doubted _anything_ of that sort would _ever_ occur, EVER, but…she supposed it couldn't hurt to keep it worn around her neck, along with the ember stone the Goddess had given her…it was, after all, rather pretty….

…**Saphron…**

-

_A/N:_ Did you know dust is made up mostly of dead skin cells you and your family members/roommate shed on a daily basis? Yeah, true story. (The things you learn in bio…) Luckily it's not harmful or anything…it's just kinda gross. Because you breathe in that dust. Heh.

Also, I'm packing today for my plane flight tomorrow, so that's what inspired the whole under-the-bed-check thing. Don't you hate it when you leave socks in hotel rooms? I do! Lol. Ok, hope you enjoyed the semi-fluffiness:-D


	29. Chapter 29 On the Great Central Road

**Homeward Bound: An Alternate Version of in the Hand of the Goddess**

**By Saphron**

_**(1)** A/N: _So I'm totally smacking my forward right now, because I _completely_ forgot Alanna all ready had "the talk" and the charm from Mistress Cooper ages ago. I haven't read the books in awhile and it totally slipped my mind, I thought she received those things when she came back from the war and asked Mistress Cooper to show her how to dress like a girl. But an extremely knowledgeable reviewer, Miss Evelyn, pointed the discrepancy out for me. Anyway, I really hope that little blunder doesn't detract too much from the fic, please just pretend that Mistress Cooper didn't give her the charm ages ok, all right? Thanks guys. And sorry for the massive amounts of spelling errors last chapter, I was late for a movie and just dashed off. Won't happen again! I'll try, anyway…I need a beta-reader, lol…

**(2)** Ok, really, Tortall _next_ chapter, I promise…I just have so much planned for the Carthaki story line now that everything is jumbling up and falling into place that I just want to throw it all out there lol, but ok, don't worry, more George and Gary and Raoul and Roger to come, soon, soon…

* * *

**Chapter 29 – On the Great Central Road**

"_Between too early and too late, there is never more than a moment."_

-- Franz Werfel

* * *

_Carthak, the Great Central Road:_

Jon whistled, oblivious to the windy chill or the morning air. A sea of fluffy white clouds trailed above him, and the earth felt soft and spongy beneath his horse's feet. He was free as a bird and finally on his way to rescuing Alanna so they could go home! Saraiya was true to her word, the mare was sweet-tempered but strong; Jon had all ready tested out her galloping abilities on a long stretch of flat dirt road a few miles back. If he kept up this steady pace he should arrive at Crow's Lane by nightfall, mayhap earlier, if he was lucky. He hadn't worked out a plan quite yet on how to rescue her, but he figured he'd think of one when he got there. The important thing was that he was only a few short hours away from seeing his squire again. He clucked to his mount to pick up the pace from a light trot to a swift canter; the noon sun was all ready high in the sky.

* * *

"Look Alanna, a white-tailed deer. Isn't it graceful?" Lord Oppenheimer asked, pointing out the creature nibbling on the grass beside the road. "And look, there's a yellow-bellied sapsucker! They're actually quite common, but I never tire of seeing them drilling holes in trees like that."

Alanna nodded in interest, even though nature wasn't exactly her thing, she thought it was good to learn more about the Carthaki landscape. All knowledge is valuable, some wise person once said.

The two were heading north on the Great Central Road towards the palace. They had passed through woods and forded streams, trotted over rolling hills and through thick chaparral shrubbery, and were now riding beneath a warm forest canopy, chatting animatedly and discussing their plans for the ball. Since they had only had a light snack for breakfast, Lord Oppenheimer soon suggested they pull over to a shaded grove of trees by the side of the road for a picnic lunch. There was a small stream where the horses could water and they could soak their feet, plus a gentle patch of clover leafs to sit on. Alanna, as a busy squire used to running errands quickly for the palace residents, rarely received the luxury of a nice long lunch outdoors, and relished the thought of diving into the nutella sandwiches they had packed.

She unpacked the hazel nut cream and bread, and Lord Oppenheimer opened a bottle of clear sparkling cider. Their conversation quickly turned to the upcoming ball for which they were riding all the way to the Emperor's palace.

"Do you know how to do a proper curtsey?" The noble questioned, slicing a wedge of brie cheese for the fruit platter. "Because it's very important you show the Emperor the utmost respect."

Alanna rolled her eyes, "I know that, I'm not an idiot. Besides, I doubt I'll be talking to the Emperor anyway, I'm sure he has far more important guests to attend to than some random noble he's never heard of."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Lord Oppenheimer chuckled, "once I publicly present The Gadget to the Emperor, I'm sure all eyes will be turned towards us."

"The Gadget? What's that?" Alanna asked curiously, popping another grape in her mouth.

"It's the experiment I've been working on for all these months," he replied, "The Gadget is a ball of magic so powerful, the likes of it have never been seen before on earth. You see, normally mages can extract threads of their gift and infuse them into material objects—rocks, clothes, metal , etc., which grants the objects a bit of extra force, so your sword is extra sharp, or your shirt is extra stain-resistant. I'm sure you've seen plenty examples of this before, in basic midwives charms to promote healing and spells inlaid on kitchen hearths to prevent fire. But I've manage to compound so much power into The Gadget that it's scarcely imaginable….it's the achievement of a life-time."

Lord Oppenheimer's voice was raw with awestruck wonder. Alanna could only gaze at him in confusion and curiosity. She was no mage, but she did her best to follow along as her slave-master continued to explain.

"It can be used for all sorts of things, to reinforce a tired soldier when he is defending a city from attack, or to give strength to a desperate healer who doesn't have the resources to carry on. The power is too great for one man to draw on for simple daily tasks, but a competent mage could use the ball to cast a giant shield over an army, making them impenetrable to attack, or rain down magic on the heads of his enemies like arrows. It's like a giant store room of energy, packed into one tiny ball."

"How did you even make it?" She inquired, eyes wide.

A sly smile stole across Lord Oppenheimer's features, "oh, with a little of this, a little of that. Those mushrooms you gathered were essential, plus Pa--er, some other ingrediants. But the basic theory behind the Earth'sfundamental particles is rather elementary, however, to tweak the forces of nature requires a great deal of ingenuity and human knowledge…"

Alanna soon got lost during Lord Oppenheimer's little magic lecture, preferring to turn her attention to her delicious nutella sandwich instead. She nodded her head every few minutes and emitted a few "mms" and "ahhs," just so he thought she was listening, but she was really focused on the warm hazel nut cream melting in her mouth. When Lord Oppenheimer was deep into his homily about 'the magnetic separation of the two isotopes,' Alanna interrupted, deciding to skip to the most important question lingering in her mind.

"But how do you make it work?" she piped up. "Do you just hold it, and then draw strength from it?"

Lord Oppenheimer laughed, apparently not caring about the sudden interruption, "of course not! If that was the safety mechanism, _anyone_ could use it for their own ends, and it could fall into the wrong hands. No, I am the only one who knows how to turn it on and off to access the power. Here, I'll show you."

Lord Oppenheimer guided her hand over the ball, and the two clutched it together. He instructed her to close her eyes and concentrate. Alanna's breath fell shallow; she felt herself return to that quiet place inside of her, where all was calm and her gift roamed free. She heard Lord Oppenheimer's voice whisper through her brain as if it were the wind, steady and all-around her.

"The switch is inside, here…follow the trail of light. Do you see it in your mind? I'm showing it to you, follow my gift, it's a deep wine-colored crimson. There's a golden path…follow it…there! In the very center, do you see that crystal diamond? You must press your gift on that diamond to activate the power of the ball; it will set off a chain reaction and all around you magic will fill the sphere. It will build, slowly at first, but then grow faster and faster. After a few minutes, The Gadget will be at full force. It needs to be channeled through a mage, or else the power might escape the ball, though I reinforced the steel as much as possible given the limitations of common metal alloys. Isn't it brilliant Alanna? No one can activate the ball without knowing exactly where to find this tiny crystal diamond, it's hidden too deeply inside unless you know the path. And only the maker can find the path—and now you too, of course."

When Lord Oppenheimer released her hand she shuddered, afraid of the incredibly strong magic she had justencountered. The object was powerfully potent, far too much for her liking. She could feel the sphere radiating with it, humming a song that was not of this world. She preferred swords and shields and jousting lances, thank-you-very-much.

Lord Oppenheimer frowned, confused by her shuddering grimace. He thought she would like his creation, he thought she'd be impressed by his genius and skill… "What's wrong, you don't like it?" he asked softly, peering closely into her eyes to discern the truth.

Alanna didn't want to offend him, but secretly she hated the object. It scared her. It's not like she thought it was evil per say, she just felt nervous about so much power packed into so little space. The safety mechanism was brilliant, no one would have any idea how to work The Gadget without Lord Oppenheimer explaining it, but still. It was a lot to take in.

"It's…it's something, all right," she diplomatically tried. But seeing how anxious Lord Oppenheimer looked, she took another stab at complimenting his work, "truly, it's amazing. It's something my brother Thom would come up with, I feel sure of it. You mages are extraordinary."

She smiled at him, and he beamed back, looking for all the world like a child that had been told Midwinter was coming early this year. Suddenly he took her hand in his, and _not_ to show her how to work The Gadget.

"Alanna…you know as a noble I have the means to get by just fine, but once the Emperor sees this, I'll be rich beyond measure. Oh, I've never been one to care about such material things, but I understand it's necessary when one decides to finally settle down on his humble fief…marry a pretty girl, raise a litter of young mages…"

Alanna shifted nervously, far too uncomfortable with this line of talk. She still denied Binney's adamant claim that her slave-master had feelings for her, but if that was so, why was he clutching her hand so intimately and babbling about marriage? Alanna thought it was high-time they hit the road again, before things turned _really_ awkward.

"Er, g-good for you, but ah, shouldn't we be packing up now? I mean, you can't present the Emperor with The Gadget and receive your ample reward until we get to the palace right? So let's get going!" She bounded to her feet faster than a jack rabbit and hopped into the saddle, the picnic basket slung over her arm. Lord Oppenheimer shook his head and stood up, brushing his mage's robes carefully to wipe off the bits of grassy fluff that clung to him like burs. Alanna giggled as he wrestled with a hearty clump of rootweed twined in his shirtsleeve, and helped him to untangle himself before he mounted his horse. Together the two returned to the road, whether they encountered a trail of dust left by a passing rider mere moments before.

Alanna coughedfrom the dust and rubbed her eyes, attempting to clear them. She turned around in her saddle and squinted at the mare that had just passed by their shady grove of trees. From what she could see of his behind, a tall rider with jet-black hair was mounted on the beast, riding at a swift canter. It almost looked like…but no, that was impossible, Jonathan was still locked in Lord Penikth's house, she was planning on rescuing him once she escaped Lord Oppenheimer at the ball. It was probably just the dust in her eyes, or her imagination playing tricks on her or something; the noon sun _was_ rather warm. She shook her head to clear it of any more mirages, and clucked at her horse to catch up to Lord Oppenheimer. They had a long ride to the capital city ahead of them.

Neither knight nor squire knew they had just passed each other mere moments before, one brief moment in time, lost forever on the Great Central Road.

…**Saphron…**

* * *

_A/N:_ Oh gods, I'm so so so soooo evil…I know, I know. Do you all totally hate me right now lol? They missed each other on the road! Sacre bleu! But what fun would it be if they found each other now? After all, Jon still needs to see Alanna in her balll gowl…tehe… 


	30. Chapter 30 Mayhem at Crow's Lane

**Homeward Bound: An Alternate Version of in the Hand of the Goddess**

**By Saphron**

_A/N: _Ok, I don't know when I'll get to Tortall, wait, actually I do. The chapter will be called The Midwinter Ball, and it will feature both Alanna at the Carthaki ball and our favorite knights at the Tortallan ball subsequently, because it's cool to double up chapters like that. So as soon as Alanna goes to the ball, which should be in two or three chapters (most likely) we'll return to Tortall, all right? In the meanwhile, here's some more Jon for you. All right, yippee.

The important thing is this chapter is long. Really long. So enjoy! I hope people are still reading this, I fear interest has died off a bit…that's a shame…oh well, if anyone's still out there, I hope you like this chapter.

* * *

**Chapter 30 – Mayhem at Crow's Lane**

_Carthak, Crow's Lane:_

The sun hung low in the sky, but there was just enough light for Jon to spot the massive tower rising before him as he crested the small grassy hill. He practically whooped with joy upon sighting it—finally, he made it to Crow's Lane! He had gotten lost along the way when he accidentally turned right instead of light at a triple fork in the road, but he quickly realized his error when he found himself smack dab in the middle of a corn field. Somehow, he didn't think Lord Oppenheimer was the farmer-type, unless he really liked cornflakes for breakfast. Nonetheless, the little detour had cost him precious time, and he worried he wouldn't make it in time to the fief before nightfall, which had been his goal all day.

Although he had ridden his horse, which he had named Sari, after the Lady Chief, along the last stretch of the road at a full gallop, he suddenly pulled his mare to an abrupt stop, frowning with the realization that he had no plan whatsoever. He was tempted to storm the gate with a battering ram, but somehow he didn't think that would work. Plus, he didn't exactly have a battering ram handy. Minor detail.

Ideally, he figured stealth was the best way too go—it had worked for the Brotherhood of the Arabian Knights during the raid, so hopefully it would work for him too. Jon circled the tower, idly brushing his fingers along Lightning's hilt in concentration, but found no doors on the ground level except for the main entrance, which stood locked shut. He squinted at the high up windows—all were closed. Even if he had climbing rope with him, which he didn't, there was no way he could toss it through the window and scale the walls. There was one small window that looked like it peered into the kitchen, but it was too tiny to crawl through. Maybe Alanna could have done it, with her slender female build, but Jon was a full-grown knight; he'd get stuck head first, with his butt sticking horizontally out of a random tower in midair. No, bad plan, very bad plan.

Jon stood back and scratched his head, at a loss for what to do. He shivered as the cold night air began to descend, and drew his new cloak that he had bought with part of his earnings form the raid tighter around his body. Suddenly he spotted an old woman appear near the kitchen window, as if out of thin air, and toss a nasty chamber-pot of filthy liquid out into the bushes. There! That was it! A hidden door, that looked just like the rest of the tower, yet disguised as smooth grey stones. It must be to prevent thieves from breaking in.

Jon quickly dismounted and tied Sari to a tree just out of sight of the tower, far enough away to not be obvious to someone residing inside, but close enough to make a quick get-away if he had to. The light in the sky was growing dimmer, but it was bright enough for him to spot the smooth crevices that marked the hidden door. Jon pushed with all his might, willing the door to open.

Nothing happened.

He tried once more. Again, nothing happened. Sweat broke out on his brow as Jon shoved even harder, but it was no use; the door refused to budge. Cursing and swearing like a disgruntled sailor who had just had his shore leave striped from him, Jon kicked the door in a tantrum of anger. He howled with pain as his soft-leather boots made contact with the hard stone wall, and stood hopping awkwardly on his good foot, cradling his wounded big toe. Great Merciful Mother, that hurt!

To add insult to injury, the next thing Jon knew, the door was being flung open as another slop bucket sailed through the archway—and landed squarely on his head.

Jon gasped as the dreadful stinky liquid trickled down his neck. Oh Mithros, this was _disgusting_! He was covered in _shit_!

To make matters worse, the woman who had tossed the bucket suddenly screamed; there was a deranged howling man covered in human feces hopping up and down on one foot swearing like a banshee right outside her door! He looked like an evil swamp monster come to life! Ahh!

She grabbed a nearby broom handle—the same one Alanna had pretended was a fighting staff—and began raining a shower of well-placed brutal blows on his head, thinking he were a village thief come to rob Lord Oppenheimer's personal magic stores while the noble was out of town. Her slave-master had warned her something like this might happen! Good thing Alanna had trained her so thoroughly in the art of defense!

"Ahhh! For the love of Mithros woman, stop whacking me with that giant stick!" Jon shouted, ducking to dodge her blows. He slipped in the pile of waste and landed firmly on his read end. He tried to stand, but slipped once more, and finally laid sprawled eagle in the dung mud, panting heavily and wincing with every breath.

Binney relented her blows, but she kept her weapon poised and ready, standing by for another attack on the thief. She swung her broom handle like a bat as she glared at him. "Ach boy, look at yez, thinkin' yez could steal from me master, well Ol' Binney 'ere ain't gonna letcha near his things, no siree! Ye'll 'afta ter getter me first! C'mon pretty boy, let's see whatcha got!"

Jon sat up and wiped a streak of filth out of his eyes, looking pleadingly at the crazy woman. He didn't want to have to hurt her, because she was obviously just some off-her-rocker old slave woman trying to defend her master's territory, but he didn't fancy getting smacked any more than he needed to. Obviously, his stealth plan was out of the picture, so he resorted to plan B: the infamous Conte charm. He just hopped it would work when he was covered in human waste...

"I come in peace!" He cried, trying to look innocent. To Binney he just looked pathetic, but she nodded slightly, acknowledging that she at least hear him out. All though she had very little sympathy for thieves, _especially_ ones that thought they could sneak into the tower through _her_ kitchen. "I'm not a thief and I don't want to steal anything for you or your master. I'm just looking for someone is all, a friend ok? Sheesh." He made a motion to stand up, but Binney clucked at him like an angry mother hen, warning him to stay still where she could see him. He sighed and crouched on his knees, rising slowly with his hands in the air, the classic sign of surrender.

"Well ye ain't a friend o' mine pretty-boy, and I highly doubt yer a friend o' me master's, so why doncha just move along now then an' scat back to wherever ye came from…"

Jon looked determined. "I can't do that," he said, mustering as much conviction and pride as he could, "I've escaped a cruel slave-master, dodged a hormonally charged pregnant woman, negotiated with the Brotherhood of the Arabian Knights, completed a danger-fraught midnight raid, and had an extremely awkward and uncomfortable talk about sex with the Lady Chief of the Brotherhood, _all_ so I could find my friend Alanna, and I am _not_ turning back now, _got it_?" He spat, fighting to keep his temper from rising. He would never raise his fist against a woman, especially not an elderly frail one—though she really didn't seem that frail, how in Mithro's name did the old biddy keep in such merciful good shape?—but so help him, if _one more person_ stood in his way of finding his squire…they'd regret the day they were ever born on this cursed Earth!

"Yer a friend o' Alanna?" Binney asked, completely surprised. Her staff lowered an inch as Jon nodded. Finally, he was getting somewhere—the woman only looked a little hostile, instead of the raging whirlwind of insane fury she was a few moments before. Now she was like a gentle grizzly bear. Slightly less dangerous than a wild lion. And by slightly, he meant it would take ten seconds to kill him instead of only two.

"How de ye know her?" Binney asked suspiciously.

Jon groaned. He was covered in filth, and all he wanted to do was take a shower. Did he _really_ have time to tell the whole story _again_? Mithros…it was hard rescuing damsels in distress. Maybe next time he'd stick to a nice cozy desk job in the palace, leave the knightly stuff to Gary and Raoul…

"We came from Tortall together, we were both sold into slavery here, then separated a few weeks ago. I've been trying to find her ever since. I swore on my life that I would. Now please, would you go get her? She can verify that I'm not some thief, that I'm actually who I say I am—her best friend!"

Although Binney wasn't entirely convinced, the man did see rather earnest. His accent was strange, similar to Alanna's, it was likely he really was from Tortall like he claimed. And he wouldn't ask for Alanna to verify his identity if he were a thief, would he? Come to think of it, if he were a thief he probably would have run away by now, not stood around in a pool of waste looking pitiful. But just to be sure, Binney thought she'd give him a little test.

"What's her eye color, eh?"

"Huh? Her eye color, what does that have to do with anything?"

Binney rolled her eyes, exasperated by how slow the not-theif was. Men. Dense as bricks, all of them. "It's a test," she growled, "ter see if yez really know 'er."

"Ah," Jon nodded. "Fine, lay it on me. I guarantee you whatever you ask I shall know."

"Ok pretty-boy. What's 'er eye-color then?" She questioned.

"Easy, a deep amethyst," Jon responded.

"An' height?"

"Short, a little over five feet tall."

"An' hair?"

"Copper-red," he drawled, almost bored. Some test this was, her appearance was obvious to anyone who ever laid eyes on her. She kind of stood out from a crowd, after all.

"Temper?"

"Quick! Mithros, she'll bite your head off before you can blink!"

Binney laughed—it seemed the boy really did know her. But she wasn't done with the test yet, not by a long shot.

"And what special skills does she have?"

Jon tilted his head to the side. Special skills? Well, she wasn't a very good wrestler, but she was a mean swordsman. Not that he expected Binney to know that. What answer could she possibly be looking for? "Er, she can fight like a lioness on a rampage?"

"Correct! Ach, I guess yez did do know 'er then. Aw'right, I believe yez. I'll lower me staff, but don'choo try no funny buisnezz, yez hear?"

"Yes ma'am," Jon croaked, stepping with a loud squelch out of the pool of dung mud._ Uch_. "Who are you anyway?"

"Th' name's Binney, Binney O'Shire, of the O'Shire clan from th' Green Isle. I'm a slave 'ere in Lord Oppenheimer's house, as is Alanna—although I bet yez all ready knew that bit."

Jon nodded. He poked a finger in his right ear, attempting to extract the slime that had embezzled it's way in. He'd probably smell like a manure field for a week after this… "So, where is she? Can I see her? I know Lord Oppenheimer probably has her working right now, but if she could just take a quick break to meet an old friend…I promise, I'll be quick, I just want a word…"

Binney shook her head, "ach pretty-boy, I believe yez, I do, but I'm 'fraid yer too late ter talk ter Alanna…"

Sudden fear seized Jon's heart. What did she mean, he was too late? Had something bad happened to Alanna? Great Merciful Mother, if Lord Oppenheimer has harmed her in any way he'd skin the man alive!

"She rode for the palace terday wit' Lord Oppenheimer, they're on their way to th' Midwinter Ball."

Jon gasped. "What do you mean they're on their way to the palace? You mean, the palace in the capital city? _Where I just came from_?"

"Ah, yeah, looks like."

Jon couldn't believe it. There was only one way to Carthak the capital city from Crow's Lane—he must have missed Alanna on the road somehow! Oh Mithros, curse his bad timing! What luck he was having today! First he got slimed, now this!

"Why?" He cried, "where, when, how? What? You must tell me!"

Binney shushed him, "calm down pretty-boy, don' get yer knickers in a twist now. Lord Oppenheimer was invited to the Emperor's Midwinter Ball, an' o'course he could'na refuse. Plus he wants ter show th' Emperor a little project he's been workin' on fer awhiles now, but anyways, he needed a date o' course, cuz yez can't show up ter a ball wit'out one, and he's not really one ter go out socializing wit' a lotta ladies, seein' as how he lives so isolated in this 'ere tower, so he says to 'imself he says, why not bring Alanna? She's a girl, an' looks right decent enough inna dress. So he bought her a lovely little gown, slapped her on th' seat o' a horse, an' rode for th' palace this mornin'!"

Jon let out a strangled gurgle. To think, he had rode all this way for naught! And right now _she_ was where he had just been, and _he_ was where she had just been, and the two had completely switched places! It was ridiculous, it was absurd!

Jon cursed and resisted the urge to scream in frustration. He took a deep breath to calm himself. No matter, he told himself, at least he knew Alanna was safe and still alive, and likely not injured in any way, for if Lord Oppenheimer was taking her as a guest to a ball he obviously wouldn't cover her in bruises and black eyes first. All he simply had to do was turn around and ride back to where he had come from and find her at the palace, that was all. It wouldn't be a pleasant journey, not covered in the stench of human feces, but he'd deal. He was too close to give up now.

Jon turned on his heel towards his horse, a small movement that saved his life. A knife whistled through the air, just nicking the bottom of his ear, where seconds ago it would have plunged into the back of his neck, killing him instantly. Jon yelped as he felt the sting of the blade, and leapt back form his attacker—it was the same man who had lunged at him weeks ago in front of Lord Penikth's house when he and Alanna had tried to escape, he was sure of it! The jagged scar running the entire line of his cheek was unmistakable, as was the black cloak draped around his shoulders. Great Mithros, the assassin had just come _this_ close to killing him!

The tracker's eyes gleamed, a wicked grin stealing across his mangled features. Finally, after all these weeks of waiting, his time had come! He had seen the rider approach the tower and wander the premises in confusion, at a loss by the seeming lack of a way in. He quickly realized it was the Prince, the unmistakable sapphire blue eyes and jet-black hair gave him away, but he couldn't attack him while he was still mounted, the Prince had the advantage of height. Nonetheless, when Jon leaped off his mare, the tracker felt sure the gods were smiling down on him. He prey had wandered right into his nest! Finally, after all this time of waiting patiently, Lady Luck was with him!

The tracker smiled, relishing the thought of finally being able to kill the man who had been haunting his dreams for weeks on end. He'd take it slow, he was in no rush. It was just an unlucky chance that the Prince had dodged his first blow, but it wouldn't happened again. Unless the man was armed under that cloak, which the tracker highly doubted, he didn't stand a chance.

"Finally, I have found you, Prince Jonathan. After all this time…you have come to me to meet your death." He whispered softly, though his voice carried across the still night air. It was now completely dark. Jon felt sweat trickle down the back of his neck, despite the cold. His attacker was a head taller but slightly more slender. He looked like he knew how to wield a knife, but then again, so did Jon. Eight years of knight-training ought to be good for something, after all. Jon whipped back his cloak and reveled Lightning by his side. Surely Alanna wouldn't mind if he borrowed the blade…

The tracker grimaced as he mirrored Jon, puling out his own long sword. Although a simple assassin's dagger was his blade of choice, he was proficient with a wide variety of weapons, all of which he carried on his person. He wasn't known as the best assassin in Tusaine for nothing.

Binney gasped as the two men lunged at each other, fighting tooth and nails in a battle to the death. She ducked into the kitchen and watched form the window at the horrible scene unfolding before her very eyes. They began by circling each other wearily, but soon the tracker plunged forward, knocking headlong into Jon's blade. Flashes of metal glinted in the moonlight as each man struggled to defeat his enemy. Jon had youth, willpower, and a full knight's training on his side, but the tracker had height, a fresh day's rest, and twenty extra years of experience on his. The battle was close, too close for Binney's liking. A simple unlucky stroke of a sword could end it either way, despite talent or training. It all came down to the god's favorite now…

Furiously Jon defended himself, at times raising his sword arm high to ward off a blow, then taking advantage of his enemy's brief moment of recovery to leap forward, sword pointed in toward's his enemy's exposed ribcage. But the tracker was quick, too quick, and Jon was tired from his long day's ride, not to mention injured from Binney's broom handle blows. Visibility was low; it was pitch dark outside, and the tracker was obviously used to such conditionswhereas Jon had never fought blindly in the dark before. He hadn't eaten all day, and he had ridden hard to reach Crow's Lane before nightfall. He felt faint, and he knew it had nothing to do with his swordsmanship skills, but with the simple biological fact that the human body could not sustain itself without proper nourishment and rest _and_ exert this much energy in one sitting. He tried to dodge blows rather than defend them head on, hoping to spare himself the worst of it, but the tracker quickly realized he was tiring and pressed his advantage. With a final sweep of his sword, Jon stumbled, and Lightning sailed out of his hands in a smooth arc, landing softly in the grass several feet away. Jon stepped back, reeling from the shock of defeat. If he couldn't reach his sword in time, he was a dead man…

The tracker smiled evilly as Jon scrambled away from him. He advanced, slowly, relishing the thought of victory. Jon stumbled in the same pool of slop he had slipped in before and fell to the ground, hard. He raised his arms in a last pitiful gesture of defense, but inside he knew it was useless. This was it, this was the end. It was a pity he had traveled all this way to find Alanna and he never ended up seeing her again…he would have liked to say goodbye one last time…tell her some things he should have said long ago...like how he really felt about her...

The tracker raised his sword as maniacal laughter peeled from his throat. Jon shut his eyes tight and winced, expecting the death blow to come any minute now. But it never came. Jon pried his eyes open and saw the tracker lying before him, face down in the mud, his arm still raised above him. Binney stood behind him, clutching a bloody frying pan, looking haughtily down her nose at the defeated stranger.

"Ach, good thing Alanna taught me ter fight any man that gives me crap! Whodda thought a frying pan would make such a nifty weapon, eh?"

Jon would have laughed if he had the strength. It was unbelievable, this crazy old woman had just defeated the most skilled assassin in Tusaine and saved the Crown Prince of Tortall, all with a common cooking instrument used to make fried potatoes! But instead he felt himself falling softly into a world of violet flowers. Purple tulips, it looked like. They were so soft. So comforting. And they reminded him so much of something beautiful…someone beautiful…

Jon slept soundly that night, tucked in a giant bed with deep purple blankets. Binney had bathed him, scrubbing the filth from behind his ears, and tucked him in where he'd be safe and warm. She watched him regularly throughout the night, making sure his breathing was regular and his pulse strong. She wasn't an expert healer, but he looked like he'd recover just fine after a sweet night of rest. She had even stabled his horse in the kitchen, having found no other suitable place to put her, seeing as Lord Oppenheimer had no stables and she didn't want thieves coming in the night to take such a noble beast. Tomorrow the Prince—she'd have to ask him about that particular title—could ride for the palace and find Alanna, but tonight he needed rest, and plenty of it.

Binney clucked as she blew out the last candle, and settled into her rocking chair. She sung a quiet little sung she had heard as a girl once, the frying pan laid reverently by her side.

…**Saphron…**

* * *

So…calling all readers…you're ah, still there, right? Yes? –hears crickets chirp- No? –coughs- Right then. Well. Um. I guess see you later. Or not, if you're not there. But yeah. If you are, that's SUPER. Ok. Yay :-D 

PS: I'm leaving on a mini-vaycay ski-trip on Weds. but I'll be back Saturday or Sunday, sooo sorry if it takes awhile to get the Ball scene up'n running...but y'know how these winter breaks go...ttfn mates!


	31. Chapter 31 From Slaves to Nobles

**_Homeward Bound: An Alternate Version of ITHOTG_**

_**By Saphron**_

_A/N:_ Oh my loyal reviewers…how I heart thee! Merry X-mas, Happy Chanukah, Joyful Kwanza, all that season's greetings shmush :-D Skiing was a blast, I only fell down the mountain like…twelve times instead of the fifty million predicted, although I'm sore as (insert expletive here). Anyway, I've returned to you all now, so THANK YOU for the reviews and enjoy your winter celebrations!

**DON'T FORGET**—the capital city (the Carthaki version of Corus) is also named Carthak. I know that's confusing, but hey, I didn't design it that way, ok? I'm just following the all mighty TP here. So anyway, when I reference Carthak, I probably mean the city, so just…don't be confused lol.

Oh, and I haven't read _Emperor Mage_ in ages, so I completely forgot what the palace looks like or anything about the slaves, etc etc, but I'm assuming the place is pretty luxerious. And hey, this is _my_ world, right? Even if it's based entirely off of TP's work, the fact remains that I'm still the author of this fic and I can do as I please, including makingCarthak like I want.So there, lol. –feels extremely omnipotent- now read on younguns!

_PS:_ And TTFN means "ta ta for now," Tigger from Whinny the Pooh says it all the time lol. Yeah…I'm cool like that…

* * *

**Chapter 31 - From Slaves to Nobles with a Quick Change of Clothes**

_Carthak, Carthak (the city):_

"Turn around then," Alanna sniffed, eyeing Lord Oppenheimer until his back was well-turned. She had ridden to Carthak in a pair of soft leather breeches and a simple white cotton shirt, despite her master's protests, but she was so _not_ going to spend the entire journey in a ridiculously uncomfortable—and seriously suffocating—skirt and corset! The only reason Lord Oppenheimer had allowed his female slave to travel in whatever clothes she pleased was if she promised to change into a dress right before entering the city, as he wanted to keep up the pretense that she was a noblewoman from a small unheard of fief on the edge of the kingdom, not one of his slaves. Alanna saw the sensibility in his plan, even if she didn't exactly like it, and acquiesced on the condition his eyes stay firmly glued to the mountain scenery, _not_ her bare back.

When her corset was laced and her soft slippers in place, Lord Oppenheimer turned around and whistled, a sharp gleam of longing in his eye. Alanna felt decidedly uncomfortable under his pointed gaze; true, it wasn't like he was revoltingly old and fat and ugly, in fact he was rather good-looking and young, in his late twenties or early thirties at the most, but he just reminded her so damn much of her brother, that she simply couldn't stomach the thought of him as anything more than a friend. Besides, even if he didn't remind her to the T of Thom, he was still her _slave-master_…the mere fact that he was barbaric enough to condone slavery was a definite turn-off, especially when she was the one in question being owned. She didn't fancy herself the property of any man, thank you very much!

Hastily she made a stab at conversation—anything to draw his attention away from her new, more feminine, outfit. "Won't we have a problem if Lord Penikth recognizes me?" she frowned, "I warrant there aren't too many violet-eyed redheads around here…"

Lord Oppenheimer chuckled, "don't worry my sweet,Carthaki high fashion includes an elaborate face mask for the ladies, oftencovered inpeacock feathers or precious jewels, he'll never identify you."

"I need a mask?" She asked curiously, "I didn't know that, we don't wear such things in Tortall."

"Must have slipped my mind," he said with a yawn, "but no matter, I all ready bought your mask--and it's quite nice, if I do say so myself, I spared no expense. Now what say we head to the palace? It's been a long day's ride and I could use the rest."

Alanna nodded and swung awkwardly back onto her horse. Mithros these skirts were hard to maneuver with! She definitely couldn't fight pirates or bandits or soldiers in an outfit like this, that was for sure. Luckily she'd only have to deal with dresses long enough to escape Lord Oppenheimer at the ball when her slave collar was removed, then she could find Jonathan, change back into sensible pants, and sail home.

The capital city loomed large in the distance, but it loomed even larger up close. When she had first arrived in the Great Southern Lands as a slave of the Carthaki Empire, all she had seen of the city was the main docking port, the deep long shimmering Zekoi River, and the inside of Lord Penikth's manor. Needless to say, when she stepped foot inside the palace, she was completely floored.

Her old slave-master's place looked positively Spartan when compared to the Emperor's palace! King Roald's castle back at home was huge, but this…this was something else entirely. She guessed there must be at least fifty of everything; fifty ballrooms, fifty flower gardens, fifty stables… She whistled in awe and idly wondered how such a magnificent creation of domes and towers could have ever been built within one lifetime, until she had the sudden realization that the palace's grandeur was due entirely to slave labor. People's sweat and blood and tears had been poured into this citadel's walls, tainting what was otherwise a magnificent display of beauty and architecture.

Alanna scowled as she ducked through the elaborate arched doorway, the elegance of its heavy oak doors and inlaid gold handles lost to her eyes. They were greeted by a posse of the Emperor's slaves, who silently ushered them in and motioned for the nobles to follow them to their guest rooms. Alanna had been holding her breath, terrified that the slaves would see through her disguise, but it appeared no one questioned her nobility. In fact, they didn't say anything at all, their expressions were decidedly stoic. _It's so ironic_, she thought to herself, _I really_ am _a noble, just not from this country. In essence, I'm a noble pretending to be a slave pretending to be a noble…it sounds like a tale out of Shakespeare's book! _

It appeared an entire wing of the palace was sectioned off for the Emperor's aristocracy; Alanna saw finely dressed men striding about, decorative swords tucked at their waistbands, and gorgeous noblewomen swishing down the hallway in small groups of two or three, chatting animatedly about their hair, makeup, dresses, and dates. Some elements of Carthaki high fashion were similar to Tortall's—the women's dresses were worn long to the ground yet low-cut at the top, they twisted their hair high above their heads, and adorned themselves head to toe in jewelry—but other aspects were quite different.

For instance, in the warmer Carthaki lands dresses were lighter, made of feather-light silk tied with elegant golden ropes at the waist, they had a propensity to be a pure white or creamy eggshell pastel, as darker colors tended to attract sunlight, and oddly enough, they were all sleeveless. Swaths of fabric hung from the back like a short scooped cape, but all the women let their arms go bare with nothing but a round golden bangle in the shape of a snake or palm fawn leave twisted around their upper limbs. The men's outfits were decidedly looser and less constricted than Tortallan garb as well, not quite as free-flowing as a toga, but lighter than a full ensemble of tunic and tights and vests. Alanna would have to remember these details when she sailed home; Tortall could use a fashion update. She could really get used to the whole sleeveless tank-top thing…it was very refreshing, and her arms felt extremely mobile, so she could swing a broadsword if she had to…

The room she was placed in when she arrived was just as elaborate as the rest of the palace. Fur-lined carpets draped the floors, giant frescos adorned the walls, and best of all, she had her own private balcony, mini-rose garden, and blue-tiled bathroom with the largest bathing tub she'd ever soon. Mithros, it was almost like a small pool! She couldn't wait to soak herself in warm bubbles and scented perfumes, but for now she needed sleep.

She didn't even bother to change out of her skirts, by the time she hit her soft goose-feather pillow, the god of slumber had taken her to dreamland. Alanna had returned to her rightful status as nobility.

* * *

Jon arrived at the Sandlot Inn long before nightfall, thanking his lucky stars that he made it to Carthak before the cold dark settled in. He had left Crow's Lane at the crack of dawn; after awaking to find himself naked in an unfamiliar bed, he had been eager to hit the road. Binney had protested, claiming he needed his rest, but Jon felt completely refreshed after a long night of gentle dreaming, and he was ready to ride for the city and find his squire. Only, once again, upon finding himself at his final location, he realized he had no plan whatsoever on how to enter the palace. The city was built with the merchant quarter by the river, right next to the docking bays, the lower city full of commoners' houses farthest from the river, and the palace upstream, next to the Temple district, walled in by guarded gates. Anyone who wanted to reach the Emperor had to get through a wall full of guards first, and somehow Jon didn't think they'd just let him stroll right on through.

"Back so soon, eh Johnny-boy?" One of the Arabian Knights chortled, ushering Sari into the stables. "I dunno if th' Chief will be right pleased or pissed as punch, but good luck to ye all th' same."

Jon nodded grimly and took a deep breath, steeling himself to face the Lady Chief once more. He had contemplated going to another inn for the night, but this was the only one he knew that was safe and warm, and whose inn-keep he could trust to keep his horse safe and privacy secured. Besides, hadn't Saraiya said they were still friends, and good ones at that? Well, friends called upon friends in times of need, and Jonathan was certainly in need…

He ducked through the archway and met a surprisingly somber crowd; it appeared the men were no longer celebrating their successful raid on Lord Penikth's manor. He spotted Saraiya at her usual place in the corner of the room by the fire, talking quietly but quickly within a circle of her men.

Jon materialized behind her left ear and gave a little cough, "So why all the long faces?"

"Great Merciful Mother!" Saraiya gasped, jumping from her chair like a startled jackrabbit, "don' sneak up on me like that!"

"Sorry," Jon apologized sheepishly.

"What in th' Hag's name are ye doin' back 'ere all ready? Where's yer little Alanna lass?" The Chief questioned, peering around his shoulder inquisitively.

Jon pulled up a chair, "she's not here, it's a long story…but you first. Why aren't you guys still celebrating?"

Saraiya scowled, "tha' fool Rascal got 'imself caught! I told all me men to lay low after th' raid, keep real quit like, but th' thick-headed braggart just _had_ ter drink 'imself silly and tell all th' pretty flower-sellers 'bout his heroic deeds robbin from th' rich…then o' course, some soldier happened ter be listening, and th' next thing ye know Rascal's due to be in th' stocks getting rotten fruit thrown at 'im! ...Idiot," she whispered fervently, although Jon could tell she wasn't so much angry at Rascal—despite the name calling—as upset and concerned for his welfare.

"What will happen to him now?" Jon asked softly, hoping the young lad would get off with a simple day of humiliation and spoiled food.

"Dunno," she frowned, "mayhap he'll just need a bath after a long day o' angry townspeople take their vengeance, but mayhap worse. 'Course, we want ter be there there t' ward off th' worst o' th' tomaters, but we gots to be careful we ain't recognized…ah well, hopefully it won't be so bad. Now I believe ye were wantin' ter ask _me_ somet'in, yeah?"

Jon nodded, grateful things were only a little awkward between him and Saraiya. Their relationship had definitely' changed—there was an air of caution lingering around their words—but for the most part they were still friends.

"Alanna's slave-master has dressed her up as noble and taken her to the palace to be his guest at the Emperor's midwinter ball. The palace is guarded better than I—I mean, um, the Crown Prince—is back home. So…I was hoping that you, as the extremely capable and wise leader of the prestigious Brotherhood of Arabian Knights, might know of a, er, less than obvious way in?" Jon said smoothly with a slight flutter of his eyelashes and a dash of the old Conte charm.

Saraiya roller her eyes, "save yer flattery, I can't tell ye of any secret passageways or nuttin'."

Jon pouted, "I thought you said we were still friends…you don't still hold a grudge against me, do you? Because like I said before—"

Saraiya shut him up with a wave of her hand, "I can't tell ye because I don't _know_, numnut. Mithros, if we knew of a way in ter th' palace we would'na hafta bother wit' this petty thievin' stuff—we'd go straight for the big guys!"

Jon sat back in his chair with a defeated sigh. So much for that brilliant plan…

"But…there might be another way…" her eyes positively glinted with mischief. Jon gulped, afraid of what wild hair-brained schemed the Lady Chief would think of next. This was the woman who, after all, was daring and crazy enough to break into one of the richest, most well-guarded manors in the whole of Carthak… "we dress ye up and sneak ye in as a noble! Wit' th' money we got from th' raid, we should 'ave enough to deck you out in th' finest silks and shoes, t'is genius, pure genius!"

Jon looked pensive for a moment, but soon a smile bloomed on his face. "That's actually not a half-bad plan…"

"'Course not, I thought o' it!" Saraiya sniffed. "'Course, they check every nobleman that comes ter th' door, they keep meticulous records 'bout these sort of things, prolly for just this reason. Well maybe not this reason exactly, but ye know what I mean."

Jon frowned in exasperation, "well it's obviously not going to work then!"

Sariaya grinned impishly, "well, it won't work if we dress ye up as a nobleman…the Emporer cares about 'em cuz they're th' ones who own th' land and hence th' ones who pay th' taxes—aye, it's a man's world, it is, sadly enough—but do ye know who they _don't_ care 'bout?"

"Oh no…" Jon began, but Saraiya cut him off.

"Oh yes," she smirked wickedly, "we're gonna dress ye up as a right fine an' pretty _noble-lady_!"

…**Saphron…**

* * *

_A/N:_ This chapter is dedicated to the fabulous reviewer **Smiles** (aka: Michelle), who has wanted to see Jon dressed up as a girl for ages…well next chapter you get your wish darling! Happy holidays :-D

Btw, I don't know how many Shakespeare fans we have out there, but for those of you who didn't know, his characters often end up wearing ridiculous disguises running around missing each other on the road getting fooled by fairies and whatnot. It's the pinnacle of whimsical comedy. Anyway, it's not unrealistic that Alanna thought her situation was reminiscent of a play form the Baird's; the Alanna series was obviously set in the medieval ages, probably around when Shakespeare was alive…so there, lol. Now go read a Midsummer's Night Dream or something!


	32. Chapter 32 From Bras to Bloomers

**Homeward Bound: An Alternate Version of ITHOTG**

**By Saphron**

_A/N_: Lalala…it took awhile to get up, due to technological difficulties, but hopefully it's worth it. After all, the title of the chapter is about underwear…it can't be all bad, lol. You know I love you all, my faithful reviewers, who are so very very kind to me…ENJOY:)

* * *

**Chapter 32 – Undergarments Gone Wild: From Bras to Bloomers **

_"Men want the same thing from their underwear that they want from women: a little bit of support, and a little bit of freedom."_

-- Jerry Seinfeld

_"A lady is one who never shows her underwear unintentionally."_

_--_ Lillian Day

* * *

"I feel absolutely ridiculous," Jon grumbled, spreading his arms a little wider so Saraiya could adjust his corset properly. Not that there was much to adjust…which the Lady Chief quickly fixed with a little help from the fabulous new creation, The Wonder-Bra. Her friend Victoria had just invented the thing and told her to keep it secret, but Mithros was it fabulous! _I'll have to get me one o' my own…_ the thief girl thought to herself, snickering as Jon whined in embarrassment and discomfort, _it's like cleavage-city, t'is…_

Jon cupped his faux bosom and peered curiously in the mirror, his mouth lined in a puckering pout, "so how are my breasts?" he asked, "Are they even? I think the left one is a little perkier than the right one—"

"Shush, they're fine. Ye're wearing th' most fabulous undergarments in th' whole o' Carthak, ye'll be a right knockout at th' ball."

Jon scowled, "well just don't make me _too_ pretty…I don't want to be--to be--_romanced_ by some man!"

Saraiya gave a short bark of a laugh, "ha! I don' think that'll be a problem, yer not _too_ bulky an' muscular—"

"Hey!"

"—but yer still too tall, too narrow-hipped, and yer face, o' gods…a face only a mother could love, I swear."

Jon glared, "gee, thanks a lot. I just _love_ being told I'm ugly, really, it makes my day—stop chuckling! Oh for the love of Mirthros, you're _enjoying_ this torture, aren't you?"

"Yep," the Lady Chief grinned, patting him off the stool. When he, predictably, tripped over his lengthy dress and cursed, Saraiya set about teaching him to walk properly as a woman, hold out his skirts before he sat, and flutter his eyelashes in a flirtatious manor. It took hours to teach him to sway his hips correctly, dance as a follower, not a leader, and—worst of all—teach him to curtsey without tripping and falling flat on his face, a feat he barely managed to accomplish.

"It's hard being a woman!" Jon grumbled, slumping into his chair with an exhausted sigh. He peered down at the tissue paper padding tucked in his shirt and shook his head. "Somehow, I never realized how much effort you females have to go through for the sake of beauty…thank Mithros I have a penis."

Saraiya snorted, "ah now, if only ever man in th' world had ter dress up like a lass, than they'd all finally appreciate th' lengths we women-folk go ter for 'em! What a riot that'd be!"

"No wonder Alanna didn't want to go to the convent…" he murmured, ignoring the cackling Lady Chief. That is, until she pulled out a very stinky—and very _hot_—bowl of wax…

"Er, what's that for exactly? Are we making candles today?" He inquired innocently.

The thief girl cocked a finely shaped eyebrow. "Well Johnny-boy, think about th' woman ye've been wit'…think about their smooth silky skin…"

Jon coughed, "are you coming on to me again? Because thinking about the women I've been with—and there've been plenty, believe me—" he added with a cocky smile, "just makes me hot…and not temperature-wise."

She would have slapped him upside the head for his arrogance, but she knew even sweeter torture was coming. "Yer in fer a real treat, oh yes you are! Terday ye will experience a full-body hair removal treatment…"

She cracked her knuckles and dipped a wooden spoon in the simmering, scorching, boiling hot wax…

"Now this may sting o' bit…"

Jon rolled his eyes, "oh please woman, I'm a full grown knight of the realm, I obviously have an extremely high pain tolerance and—AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

"Told ye t'would sting 'o bit…"

* * *

Alanna scratched at the slave collar hugging her neck. Lord Oppenheimer had taken it off right before they entered the city and any time thereafter when she left her rooms—always accompanied by him personally. But the one place he refused to grant her freedom was her own bedroom, when she was alone. Clearly, he didn't have faith in her. True, Alanna was planning on escaping, but still. Where was the trust? 

When she was in his presence she couldn't make a break for it, he could easily call the palace guards on her, or worse, toss a little fireball her way, like he did for the man who had attacked her by the river. He seemed to be quite proficient at flinging magic at people who angered him. However, she had a plan for the ball: arrange to dance with another man, twirl her way across the floor, and slip out the door with none the wiser. It would take several minutes for Lord Oppenheimer to realize she wasn't in the ballroom among the sea of elaborately dressed nobles who all looked alike, and with her slave collar off it was a simple matter to ditch the palace like it was on fire. She wasn't sure what she'd do at Lord Penikth's house yet to free Jon, but she'd figure out something.

In the meanwhile she was restless. Lord Oppenheimer was having lunch with the Earl of Grey Manor and she was all alone. The ball wasn't until tomorrow and she had nothing to do. Although Midwinter Eve was a holiday unto itself, the festivities didn't begin till sunset, and she was bored _now_.

Decidedly she jumped out of bed, where she had lain staring at the oh-so-fascinating ceiling, and strolled outside into her personal suite's mini rose garden. There was a tiled walkway, a small wall, and a single pomegranate tree in the corner. It was a little plot of land, but it was green and fresh despite the winter chill nonetheless.

_I wonder how they do that_… Alanna thought idly to herself, plucking a small yellow rose from a bush and tucking the bud behind her hair. _Make the flowers grow yearlong, even in the cold…_

She made her way to the pomegranate tree and reached up to grab herself a quick snack. She had never tried this strange red fruit Lord Oppenheimer had called a "pomegranate," and she was eager to taste its sweetness. Yet unfortunately, Alanna's diminutive stature prevented her from reaching the succulent prize.

Feeling like the Ancient Greek myth man Tantalus, curses flew out of her mouth as she repeatedly leaped and grasped for the food with little success. Finally she kicked off her high-heeled shoes and scrambled up the branches, grinning with pleasure when she plucked the juicy ruby treasure from the wintered leaves. She was about to take a huge bite of it when a deep voice called to her from below.

"Not like that, you'll stain your skirts for sure."

Alanna peered through the thick branches in search of the elusive voice. "What do you mean?" she called out, taking the fruit out of her mouth unscathed.

"Pomegranates are extremely messy, they spray red juice everywhere that simply refuses to come out of clothes, no matter how many times you dunk it in the bath. You're wearing a pretty dress, I'm sure you wouldn't want to ruin it," floated the disembodied voice.

Alanna frowned in concentration, why did that voice seem so familiar? She couldn't see the man on the ground through the tree's thick foliage, but she could have sworn she'd heard the voice before, she just couldn't place it. Regardless, she still didn't like the fact that the man was telling her what to do. She was not a child, she could eat a piece of fruit without spoiling herself, thank-you-very-much!

"Thanks, but I think I'll take my chances!" She called out, "it took me forever to get up into this stupid tree, and I'm not leaving without tasting my fruit!"

The self-satisfied smirk she wore before she bit into the delicious creation quickly turned sour as, true to the man's words, a red juice sprayed all over her dress, staining the delicate peach-colored fabric.

"Oh curse it!" She cried, tossing the wicked two-faced pomegranate to the earth. How could something that tasted so sweet on the inside be so cunningly evil?

"Would you mind watching where you toss fruit at people, please?" The mysterious voiced chimed out, a hint of amusement in his tone.

Alanna scowled. She hated it when she was wrong. Especially when it was some, some, _man_ that proved her wrong. She could be a little too stubborn for her own good sometimes. She turned to get down, but suddenly she grasped that she was a lot farther _up_ than she had realized. Alanna had never been afraid of heights, but the fact remained that'd she'd have to be extremely careful coming down, or else risk facing a broken bone, or worse.

"Do you need any help?" The voice inquired. "You look stuck."

"I am _not_ stuck!" Alanna hollered, tucking her skirts up into her undergarments to make the descent down easier. It wasn't exactly proper to have her bloomers so exposed, but at this point she was more concerned with saving her neck then her dignity. "And I can climb trees perfec—_eeeep!_" she cried, tumbling from the branches with a slip of her foot on the wet dewy leaves. Luckily, mystery-man was there to break her fall; she landed with a thump squarely on his chest on the other side of her garden wall, as he let out a loud 'oomph' of surprise.

Alanna was mortified. She was a mess with her bodice stained, her underwear uncovered, her bare feet and her weight pressed firmly on some random man! She scrambled to her feet and gasped when she saw who had provided the padding for her fall; it was the mage who had made the out of control fireworks display! What was his cursed name again? Adam something? Or Aaron? Perhaps Adrian? Or was it more like Orion? Possibly Iron? Mayhap Arunan? Acorn? Yes, Acorn! That was it!

A groan of agony gurgled from Acorn's mouth and Alanna quickly bent down to his side, placing two capable hands on his neck to check if it was broken. Satisfied that he was still alive, she ran her fingers along the rest of his body, making sure all his bones were in one piece, while he moaned painfully. Alanna sat back on her heels, confused by his whimpers; her brief medical check had shown her that he was a bit bruised by otherwise intact. One last extra loud cry ripped from his mouth and Alanna gasped fearfully—by the Hag, what if she had just killed a University mage!

One eye cracked open from beneath an arched eyebrow and a grin split open on the man's face. Alanna realized with a sudden jolt—"you tricked me!" The man laughed uproariously as she fumed and seethed in anger, her entire face turning beat red, "I thought you were seriously hurt! You, you _jerk_!"

"I couldn't—couldn't—help it," he gasped out, fighting for breath between chuckles, "I had to get my revenge…you did throw a pomegranate at my head, y'know."

Alanna scowled, "serves you right for telling ladies what they can and can not eat!"

"I was right, wasn't I?" The man replied easily, brushing the dirt of his tunic. "You totally spoiled your skirts, just as I predicated." When he glanced up and met her deep purple eyes he sucked in a sharp breath of surprise, "you're that girl…the one with the shield magic, who stopped the firework from killing that maid…"

Alanna blinked. So he recognized her, just as she recognized him. They hadn't exchanged more than two words before, but here they were, meeting again in the unlikeliest of places; beneath a pomegranate tree in the Emperor's royal garden. Fate was truly strange sometimes.

"And you're that mage who made the whole display, Acorn something."

The man positively barked with laughter, "_what_ did you just call me? _Acorn_ something?"

Alanna's upper lip curled, she did _not_ appreciate strange mage-men laughing at her! "That's your name isn't it?"

"Actually," he coughed, "it's Arram, Arram Draper. It's a pleasure to er, re-meet you."

"You too, I guess. Even if you _do_ wait under fruit trees for ladies to fall on top of you," she sniffed in reply.

"I didn't exactly anticipate a girl landing on my head actually…" he mumbled, leaning onto his elbows into a sitting position. "What's your name?"

"Ala—I mean, um, _Lady_ Alanna," she said airily, mustering every ounce of her noble blood to sound haughty and stuck-up. She was disguised as a noble after all.

"Er, yes, quite…quite a lady, I can see that…" he murmured sarcastically, glancing at her stained bodice and bare feet. He stood up and Alanna followed…and found she was a full head shorter than the mage. Mithros, he was a giant!

"Well Lady Alanna. I know you don't exactly appreciate suggestions—well-meant though they are—but you _might_ want to pull your skirts out of your underwear before someone sees…or is that the new fashion trend these days, to expose your bloomers to the world?" he polished with a stately bow.

Alanna gasped in indignation. The mage was mocking of her! Furiously she whipped her skirts out of her undergarments and adjusted them back around her ankles, glaring daggers at his stupid cocky grin. So she was a bit unconventional and liked to climb trees, so what?

Suddenly Arram—though she still thought of him as Acorn—peered curiously at her, his head cocked to one side. A deft hand fingered the slave collar around her neck and Alanna flinched, pulling backwards away from his touch. She had forgotten the gods-cursed collar! She had left the confines of her room, but the magic device around her neck made it impossible to flee far—and furthermore, she'd have to find a way over that wall before Lord Oppenheimer came back, lest he thought her trying to escape!

"I've got to go!" She cried quickly, scrambling backwards. There she had a problem: the tree was on the _other_ side of the wall, where she couldn't climb it back up. She was stuck _outside_ the mini rose garden with a strange mage man who had seen her in her underwear. Could things _possibly_ get any worse?

"Wait," he called out, "if you're a noble lady why are you wearing that slave collar? Come to think of it, you were wearing slave garments at Lord Penikth's house…oh Mithros, you're not really a noble at all, you're an, an, imposter-noble!"

"Shh!" Alanna hissed, clapping a hand over his mouth, "say it a little louder why don't you, I don't think people on the other side of the city quite heard you!"

"Mmorry," he mumbled through her fingers, "mmut mmit's mmrue, mmes?"

Alanna's eyes narrowed, "if I take my hand away, do you _promise_ to be quiet? Because I can explain this whole situation, really, I can…"

He nodded and she released him, although she remained weary of him calling out again. When the mage stayed silent, apparently waiting for her to explain, Alanna sighed, realizing she had no way out of this tricky predicament gracefully but to tell the truth.

"Look, originally I'm from Tortall. I was fi—I mean, some men were fighting near my home during the Tusaine War, and I was captured, carted onto a boat, and sold into slavery here in Carthak. After that little fireball incident of yours—which, don't forget, you _so_ owe me for—this mage, Lord Oppenheimer, bought me from Lord Penikth so I could help him with his magic experiments. When the invitation to the Emporer's ball came, he realized he'd need a date, but he's kind of anti-social, so he doesn't exactly know a lot of women. He couldn't not go, he wants to present some magic device thing to the Emperor, so…somehow I got roped into the role of guest date and noble lady extraordinaire."

Arram whistled and looked contemplative for a moment, "that's quite a tale…" he murmured. When that was all he said in response, Alanna fidgeted nervously. What if this mage told the guards who she really was? Mithros, they'd be on her in seconds, and the price for impersonating a noble was steep—hanging on the city gallows. Alanna gulped; she couldn't believe her fate was in the hands of this arrogant jerk.

"Well, I won't tell you if you won't," he finally replied cheerfully, patting her on the top of her head like she was an adorable wayward little child.

"Won't tell what?" she frowned, utterly confused.

"Why, that I like to stand under trees waiting for, how did you put it again? Oh yes, 'waiting under fruit trees for ladies to fall on top of me.'"

Alanna opened her mouth to snap back, but thought better of it, seeing his mirthful grin. "Deal," she replied, shooting him a shy smile back. If he was willing to keep her secret, mayhap he wasn't so bad after all…

"So tell me more about your mage's experiments," Arram said, rubbing his hands excitedly, "y'know I'm a mage myself, so I'm utterly fascinated by the newst inventions…."

Alanna shook her head, unsure of how to describe Lord Oppenehimer's Gadget. "I don't really know how to explain it…it's just like this magic ball thing that contains all this power, like an infinite amount, that can be used for all sorts of things."

Arram's eyes sparkled in wonderment and Alanna glanced away; her slave-master wasn't exactly her favorite person in the world, especially as he had been acting so weird lately talking about marriage and kids and pretty girls, but he was still her friend, kind of, and she didn't think he'd want rival mages knowing the intimate details of his work. Besides, she _really_ had to go, Lord Oppenheimer was due back any minute from his lunch with the Earl of Grey, and she didn't want him to think she had escaped prematurely—she wanted to keep up the pretense that she was a loyal slave for as long as possible!

"I need to get back," she intoned, turning to face the wall. Steeling herself with a deep breath, she leaped up, grabbing for the wall top…and missed by about three feet. "Oh drat it! Curse the stupid brick worker who built this stupid gods bedamned wall and made it way too freakin' tall…" Arram stood amazed by the chain of expletives that ushered out of her mouth—by the Hag, she could have made a sailor blush!—and shook his head; she was sure feisty for a girl of her size. He was about to offer her a hand up, but then he realized she'd never accept. She liked to do thing her own way, this one.

Before she could protest, Arram placed two strong arms around her hips and hoisted her into the air. She let out a little gasp and even attempted to kick him in the face, but he ducked archly out of harm's way and placed her squarely on top of the wall, which was rather short for him. She glared at him before tumbling over to the other side and Arram laughed. "Your welcome!" he called out one last time, before tucking his hands in his pockets and striding slowly away, whistling as he went.

He'd have to contemplate the strange device she had mentioned later, it sounded very interesting…mages at the University had been trying to create something like it for years, but so far no one had come close. If Lord Oppenheimer had truly invented what he thought hehad invented, then the world of magic might change forever…

Alanna brushed herself off and picked up the fallen pomegranate. Glaring at it, she muttered, "look what you caused! You better taste _really_ good, you stupid fruit. Or else…"

Striding back into her rooms, slightly bruised but otherwise delicious red treasure in hand, Alanna smiled. At least she hadn't spent the last hour bored…even if she did end up staining her skirts, muddying her feet, and oh yeah, exposing her undergarments to a strange giant of a mage…

…**Saphron…**

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:-D 


	33. Ch 33 The Midwinter Ball Part 1: Tortall

**Homeward Bound: An Alternate Version of In the Hand of the Goddess**

**By Saphron**

_A/N:_ I sprained my wrist, so that's why it took so long to post this chapter, it's been slow typing. sigh Oh well…how was everyone's new years eve? Mine was…interesting, to say the least. And now, a slightly belated ball…

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**Chapter 33 – The Midwinter Ball, Part 1: Tortall Style**

The great wide doors of the main royal chamber were thrown open in a fit of fury, as Sir Gary the Younger strode purposefully through the door. An entire court of nobles gaped at him, their forks hung suspended in midair, a bit of _foi gras_ dangling from the end of the silverware. Well, at least the normally boring midwinter ball would be a bit more interesting this year…

A pointed finger preceded the striding knight. The inquiring gaze of hundreds followed it to the handsome man sitting at the head of the table, the place typically reserved for royalty, that was currently occupied by the Duke of Conte.

"You," Gary exclaimed loudly, making sure his voice cirreid to the farthest cornor of the room, "_you_ killed the king!"

If a hundred elephants had stampeded the room the noise would not have matched the sea of gasps that rolled through the throngs of people in atidal waveof shocked surprise. The echoing murmurs filled the cavernous room like thunder, and Gary smiled grimly to himself. Even if Roger killed him on the spot, his job was done—the seed of doubt was planted in the minds of the Tortallan nobility for good.

Roger's eyes narrowed and spine arched a little straighter, but not even those nearest him could detect the faint shift of his emotions as he covered his stunned fury into an unreadable mask of composure. His left pinky finger twitched slightly, but his hands were steady as he opened his arms in a gesture of graciousness.

"What is this now young Gareth?" Roger said smoothly, infusing every word with a mixture of unctuous charm and powerful confidence. "Have you dipped your nose in the wine vat all ready? Mithros lad, the night is still young, why don't you take a seat—"

But Gary would not be shot down so easily, not after he had sat boiling in fury for three days in his room, agonizing over what he should do to thwart the duke. He knew Myles was right—he had little hope of convincing all the nobles to rebel against the traitor right then and there, but at the same time he couldn't let the evil man wear the royal crown for a second longer, it went against every fiber of his moral being. Sir Gary was a knight of the realm, and as such he had a duty to protect the kingdom he loved…even if it meant sacrificing everything he held dear, especially the esteem and respect of his peers…unless, of course he could convince people of the truth!

"I'm not drunk!" He practically shouted, just managing to control his voice. "You however, are a power-hungry bastard! You plotted to kill the king so _you_ could wear the crown and rule Tortall by yourself…you are a traitor Roger, and you deserve to die like one!"

Dropped jaws and unblinking eyes faced the young knight's bold announcement. Had he gone mad? Had all that rigorous knight training completely addled his brains? Had he fallen off his horse one too many times while on border patrol? Or mayhap…couldhebe right? Duke Roger _was_ next of kin to the late King Roald…but then, if Roger had coveted the throne, why had he not gotten rid of the king ages ago?

"My dear cousin," said Roger evenly, trying to keep his voice level and amiable, though his knuckles were clenched dead white on the arms of his royal chair. His eyes were snapping with fury, but he knew his only hope was to remain calm. Sir Gareth the younger was a well-respected knight of the realm who held a lot of sway with the court—he didn't want a civil war to break out in the dining room. His next words seemed to echo the thoughts of the nobles, "if I had desired to be king so badly as to harm my own flesh and blood, do you _really_ think I would have waited eighteen years?" Roger's voice slipped a little colder as he added, "this is a serious accusation you are making boy, you'd be wise to think over your next words _very_ carefully."

Gary didn't miss the not-so-subtle message infused in Roger's words: back out now, pretend it was all some hilarious practical joke, or prepare to suffer the worst of consequences. But Gary would not back down, not until he had proved his point.

"Simple," Gary explained, "You were waiting until the time is right, until…until a time like this! You waited to take advantage of the situation, of Queen Lianne's illness and Jon's mysterious disappearance, which, by the way, I suspect you had a hand in! Knowing full-well you were next in line for the throne…all this time you were pretending to be a loyal servant of the crown, when really you were nothing but a stinking, plotting, _murderer!_"

A hush settled around the room like a fallen cloak. Roger stood up to face the court and the bold knight before him. Normally Roger admired such fiery spirit in a man—but not tonight. Tonight he wanted to crush Sir Gareth the younger's skull into fine powder. Tonight he wanted to rip his bloody tongue out of his mouth so he could never hurl such poisonous words again. Tonight he wanted to silence the knight, damn whoever was watching, because he knew if he didn't shut him up soon, his worst nightmare would come true. The people would see through his carefully composed mask, and eighteen long years of plotting in secret would be for naught.

"You are out of line, _Sir_ Gareth," Roger murmured coldly, mocking the young man's title, "you have no evidence for these ridiculous accusations, yet you come in here and ruin what was an otherwise perfectly lovely ball for the sake of, of foolish attention-grabbing. I loved my late cousin like a brother, and the mere idea you are suggesting is just…" Roger paused for dramatic effect and closed his eyes, as if he was reliving a painful memory he didn't care for, "is just preposterous. You are clearly sick with drink and deluded out of your mind. You need rest. It is time for you to retire now. Guards! Please escort _Sir_ Gareth to his rooms and make sure he gets plenty of sleep—"

The guards looked hesitant as they glanced at the heavy knight glaring daggers at the duke. His hand was poised on his sword hilt and his eyes snapped defiance. Gary the younger was known to be an exceptionally strong knight—no one dared cross him on purpose. Besides which, he was friends with many of the palace guards, often joining them for some late night card games and raunchy stories about their conquests among the chamber maids, but tonight they were being forced to chose between a powerful sorcerer and a powerful knight. Which was less likely to get them killed?

"I said do it!" Roger snapped, glaring mercilessly at the fearful cowards that called themselves guards. He made a mental note to self to fire every one of them tomorrow and hire new guards ASAP.

A tide of murmurs broke out once again at this starling command. Truthfully, the nobles hadn't known _what_ to expect, so anything would have been considered 'startling' at this point. Of course, Duke Roger would have preferred to throw Sir Gary directly behind bars, or even better, behead him immediately, but he knew the knight had too many friends in court to allow it. If Roger ha ordered his death on the spot, many of his friends would have protested forcefully. Sir Raoul looked like a hungry pit bull straining to break free of its chain and pounce on Roger with jaws snapping. Squires Douglass and Geoffry were standing in fighting stances, their trays of mulled wine utterlyforgotten. Even Sir Myles looked serious and foreboding. No, Roger's only option was to feign pity for the 'poor deluded knight,' until things could blow over and the whole incident could be forgotten.

As the guards inched closer Gary actually growled, driving them to leap back nervously, afraid of touching him. A rolled up parchment, crinkled at the edges, as if it had been read and reread countless times over, unfurled itself in Gary's hand. The thunder died down and all was quiet as he steeled himself and read aloud:

"You claim I have no evidence? Well let the court hear _this_, a letter penned in your own hand, and then let them be the judge!" Gary smiled ruthlessly as he quoted the Duke's ill-fated words, "_My dearest cousin and King, I have excellent news for you! After weeks of scrying fruitlessly in search of your son, I believe I have finally located him in the heartlands of Carthak_--"

"STOP!" Roger wanted to scream in fury, as he fought the urge to leap on the knight with his bare hands. His breathing was heavy as he stared pointedly—almost fearfully—at the younger man. How in Mithros' name did he get that letter? It'd never do for it to be read aloud, it was too incriminating. And yet, he couldn't quiet Gary now, people would think he was hiding something. Which he was, but still. He didn't want people to actually _know_ that.

Smelling fear Gary stopped reading, sparing a glance at the pained duke. "What's wrong?" he taunted, "afraid of the truth coming out?'

Roger smoothed his hands over the front of his tunic, regaining composure. "No. I find absolutely nothing incriminating whatsoever in that letter you are reading-"

Gary's booming voice overrode him as he continued reading, ignoring completely the stupefied Dukle, "--_I'd come to your chambers, but we need to discuss the matter in private_—"

"However, I must insist you cease and deist immediately—" Roger raised his voicea decibel higher, fighting to be heard over the young knight's adamant claims.

"--_for I fear if the Prince is in foreign territory than there is a foul most enemy a foot—_"

"--and let the guards escort you to your room!"

"--_and I wouldn't want them to overhear our conversation_…"

"--I will send Duke Baird to your side to see you immediately, for you are obviously so deluded, you have actually stooped to forging a letter in my hand!"

Gary's voice rang even louder for the final dénouement, "--_**Meet me atop the northernmost tower at noon, and come alone**—I don't trust the guards, they could be bribed spies. Your cousin dear cousin, Roger_."

"Guards! _Guards_! Did you not hear me? This boy needs rest! He's gone mad! _Escort him to his rooms_! NOW!"

The guards scrambled to do the mad Duke's bidding; he looked ready to kill. Gary whipped his sword from his sheath, but Roger sent a cloud of orange magic streaming his way. It hit the knight like a whirlwind and slowly Gary collapsed on the floor, his sword abandoned.Rahoul and the others didn't even have time to react before their friend was knocked out cold, sprawled on the dining room floor like a limp bag of potatoes.

Roger tried to catch his breath as he turned to face the court. He put on a sad smile and shook his head dramatically, "the poor boy has obviously lost it. His grief for his friend, the young prince we all miss so dearly, combined with the king's tragic _suicide_ has made him look for other explanations where there are none to be had. It is simple psychology really; he feels lost, out of control, with all thesedevestating events that have unfolded before him, and thus he seeks to order his life by laying blame on others. Ah, but I pity him, the poor boy! I put a simple sleeping spell over him so he may rest tonight and hopefully recover by morn. I can only hope you all shall not hold it against him _too_harshly that he acts so wildly and accuses your loyal servant of the crown, that is to say, myself of such preposterous notions. After all, he is young… ."

Duke Roger's sudden about-face, from barely controlled rage to poignant pity, shocked the nobles out of the revelry. They didn't have time to mull over Gary's words and contemplate the truth behind them; all they had time for was to react to Duke Roger who, it appeared, had won the battle. Siding with Gary now, even if they had wanted to before, would be suicide. Roger was still in charge, and it was him they had to cater to.

Respectfully they bowed their heads as the guards escorted Gary out the door. Roger noted the gentle, ginger manor in which they carried him, and made yet another mental note to replace the guards immediately. He didn't want sympathizers of Gary at his court.

"Despite the rather, er, dramatic, interruption, I hope we all can continue to enjoy the festivities…I believe dessert was about to be served? _Ahem_?" Roger continued smoothly.

A shocked kitchen matron squawked with surprise. That was her cue! For the love of Mithros, it was time for the pies!

That night the delicious savory taste of the blueberry pies was lost on most guests, who were too stunned to enjoy the cuisine properly. Myles, Raoul, and Gary's other friends had skipped dessert entirely, preferring to gather together in Myles' room, which was not too far from the main hall, to discuss the situation. Roger feigned a steady recovery as he plowed into his pie, but he could have been eating dog meat for all he noticed the taste. Gary would pay for his treachery, that was for sure. Silently he nodded to Alex, who slipped away from the ballroom without a glance, and made his way to Gary's rooms. Oh, the young knight would pay _most_ dearly…

…**Saphron…**

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_A/N:_ The Carthaki ball/the long-awaited-for Jon and Alanna reunion next chapter. Ciao, mis amores. 


	34. Ch 34 The Midwinter Ball Part 2: Carthak

**Homeward Bound: An Alternate Version of In the Hand of the Goddess**

**By Saphron**

_A/N:_ I present to you, my darlings, my faithful reviewers who stuck with the story for so long, the long-awaited reunion chapter (well, part of it anyway)…full of all that glorious anticipated fluff…cheers! Enjoy! Buono!

_PS_: It was my 19th birthday on the 3rd :)

**Chapter 34 - The Midwinter Ball, Part 1 of Part 2: Carthak Style**

**Part 1: Beauty is in the Eye of the Beholder **(I have to split up the ball chapter, it's just too long…as it is this thing is 7 pages long/3000+ words...)

"Remember how in that communion only, beholding beauty with the eye of the mind, he will be enabled to bring forth, not images of beauty, but realities (for he has hold not of an image but of a reality), and bringing forth and nourishing true virtue to become the friend of God and be immortal, if mortal man may."

_-Plato, Symposium_

_Translation:_ "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder."

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"This job is th' best," chuckled Chartres the royal greeter to his friend, Lyon, as the pair graciously ushered the beautiful ladies of the Carthaki court into the Emperor's palace ballroom for the grand Midwinter Ball. The decorations were hung, the food was prepared, and the horse-drawn carriages were arriving, each carrying a stunning wonder more gorgeous than the last.

"Aye t'that!" came the whispered reply, "I just lurve watchin' all them pretties make their entrance, when they bow low we get ter see right down their bosoms! Er, why hello Lady Desireé, welcome to th' ball!"

"Thank you kind sir," smiled the girl coyly, dipping into a curtsey of greeting before sweeping past the royal greeters to enter the ball, oblivious to the men peering down her dress front lasciviously.

"And Lady Fifara, what a pleasure to see you again! The Emperor welcomes your return from Tyra."

"The Emperor is most kind…" murmured the lady as she swished her way inside, heedless to the hungry gaze lingering on her rear end.

"Mage Draper, yes here you are on the guest list, enjoy the ball…"

"Lady Mimi, why have you lost weight? You look simply fabulous! Save me a dance, will you?"

"Ah, Lord Oppenheimer, welcome! Let me just check you off on our list of noblemen…ah, here we go! Rumor has it you have a little surprise in store for the Emperor…I must say, we are all very excited to see it…and who might your lovely friend be?" Chartres grinned, shooting a lusty wink at Alanna. She fought the urge to vomit on the spot; somehow she didn't think the Emperor would appreciate the remains of her lunch on his front doorstep. Nonetheless, she couldn't help an involuntary shudder. She was uncomfortable with the subtle male attention she got from George back home, let alone the clearly lewd conduct of complete strangers! Mithros, _why_ did her dress have to be so gods-be-damned low-cut…

Lord Oppenheimer positively beamed as he introduced the girl on his arm. "This beautiful desert flower is my darling Lady Alanna, but I'm afraid, gentleman, she is all ready taken! Good day!" And with a possessive tightening of his grip on her arm, the man strode into the royal ballroom, his captive slave-girl dangling in tow.

"Lord Arthur, alone tonight I see? Where, pray tell, is the exquisite Lady Genevieve?" questioned Lyon, quirking an eyebrow, as he crossed the nobleman off his official list.

"Gone 'm afraid," murmured the man morosely, looking as if he wanted to burst into tears at any moment, "run off with my best friend…curse that scoundrel Lancelot!"

"Ah, well, cheer up mate, there are plenty o' fish in the sea and all that wotnot," Lyon patted his shoulder comfortingly.

"I suppose…" Sniffled the noble, shuffling through the door.

"And who, my dear are—Great Merciful Mother! I, uh, w-welcome t-to the ball…just make your way right on in there now, ah, there ya go…"

"Thank-you," muttered Jonathan of Conte, Crown Prince of Tortall—and currently, Jonathan the Cross-Dresser—tripping predictably as he dipped into his curtsey.

He resisted the urge to slap his forehead in embarrassment as he made his way inside, furtively praying to every god he knew that this whole ordeal would be over with soon. His skirts felt like ten ton sand bags, his shoes pinched his toes uncomfortably, Lightning was strappedawkwardly to his thigh (sheathed of course, and hidden by his dress), his wig itched, and he was pretty sure his left breast was sagging in a most unlady-like fashion. He ducked into a nearby awning just beyond the large entrance door to adjust his bosom, and scowled when he heard the royal greeters talking about him behind his back. Or rather, behind their backs, literally.

"Good gods Lyons, did you _see_ that dog?"

"By the hag, who could have missed her? She was the right ugliest thing I've seen in centuries! Tall as a horse and built like one too…sheesh, didn't know they made 'em like that at the convents…"

"Seriously," Chartres snorted, "good luck to _that_ one finding a husband at court…she better be pretty damn rich if she has any hope, gods know she's completely useless otherwise…"

Jon actually stamped his high-heeled foot in anger. He had _not_ undergone _four_ long hours of torture getting waxed, plucked, creamed, steamed, perfumed, pressed, dressed and make-up-ified to be insulted by a pair of cocky livery men! He was a prince for Mithros' sake! And a damn pretty one at that! Er, he meant handsome, a damn handsome one at that…regardless, those men were jerks, talking about women as if their only virtue lay in their looks, and if they weren't pleasing to the eyes they were nigh worthless…

With a wince Jon thought back to the snarky adolescent conversations he had held with Gary and Raoul and the others about the women of the Tortallan court…who was pretty, who was not, who was too fat, who too old, who was too blemished, who too flat-chested… He made a mental note to end that type of immature behavior as soon as he returned home…it was petty and mean, and after walking in a woman's shoes for a day—literally!—and learning what they had to endure to try and satisfy men's unrealistic standards for beauty, he knew enough to never again insult a woman just because she wasn't perfect. After all, flaws added character, and uniqueness. Why look at Alanna, skinny as a stick and twice as short, with muscular arms and wild cropped copper hair, and yet…she was, in Jon's eyes at least, one of the most interesting and appealing women of the entire Tortallan court. She wasn't like the other beauties, with their flowing locks and perfect hour-shape-glass figures, but she had a mischievous sparkle in her eye and a crooked smile they could never hope to match, and…by all the gods above, was that, could that be…_Alanna_ in a _ball gown_?

Jon had spoke (or actually thought) too soon. She _was_ as gorgeous as the other court ladies, there was living proof of it standing right before him! There, across the dance floor, stood his squire, dressed as he had never seen her dressed before. Jon supposed he had vaguely known she'd be in skirts of some sort for the ball, but that offhand notion didn't do justice to the dazzling spectacle he saw that night. Her well-toned, slightly freckled arms hung loose from a sheer dress that clung to her every curve. The gown tapered in color from a soft amethyst bosom to a light spring green at the bottom, with swaths of pure silk white lining the front, and delicate little beads sparkling like liquid silver dotted over the magnificent creation. Her hair was twisted in elaborate coils that framed her subtly painted face, and she walked with a grace and poise he didn't know she possessed. The top of her breasts peaked out coyly from her corset, revealing her true femininity, and around her slender white neck hung a vibrant purple stone that shimmered in the candlelit ballroom with every step she took. She was, in a word, magnificent.

Technically, Gary (had he been there) would have claimed that Lady Delia beat her in the beauty department, but Jon had eyes only for Alanna. Mayhap to a stranger she was simply decent-looking or fairly cute, but beauty was in the eye of beholder, and after years of seeing her in dirty breeches and sweaty tunics, the sight of his squire in a dress nigh near knocked him off his feet. Sometimes he forgot she was a girl, but not tonight. Tonight it was _very_ clear that she was _all_-woman.

Apparently, Jon didn't seem to be the only one staring markedly at his squire. While Alanna had by no means captured the attention of the entire Carthaki court—it appeared that particular title was reserved for a one Lady Fifara, renowned throughout the kingdom as the most dazzling raven of beauty—she did garner a few glances from single and attached men alike, if only for her rather unusual looks. Most Carthaki women were somewhat darker-skinned brunettes, as the Southern lands were notably warmer than their northern neighbors, and rarely did a pale creamy skinned red-head with purple eyes walk through the door.

Sensing the appreciative gaze of his peers, Lord Oppenheimer clutched her arm even tighter, so much so that she winced at the cut-off to circulation. She gently tugged her arm a little looser, but her slave master retaliated by slipping his hand around her waist to hug her closer to his side. Alanna sighed, resigned to his strange new possessiveness, and sniffed hopefully in the direction of the dessert table. Mithros she was hungry! And those chocolate cakes looked good…

Lord Oppenheimer allowed her to slink off towards the custard pies but kept a careful eye on her the entire time. She had just loaded her plate with frosted cookies when a familiar shadow crossed her path.

"Hello," a silky voice murmured in her right ear, "fancy meeting you here."

Alanna jumped slightly in her skin and turned to face the grinning mage. She scowled at being caught by surprise, and scowled yet again when he glanced mirthfully at the small platter of baked goods in her hands, "my, you certainly like dessert…"

"Oh well _excuse_ me for not believing that's it's healthy or normal to starve myself to death for the sake of vanity. Oh you're right, _what_ was I thinking, this cookie is likely to kill me! Or _worse_…make me gain a whole _pound_…"

Arram laughed, "oh you misread me Little One, believe me, I think it's silly for all these women to deny themselves one of the finest pleasures in life. Mirthros knows I only come to these stuffy old functions for the food! Besides, you look just fine tonight. More than fine, actually."

Alanna blushed slightly, but hid her discomfiture with a vague wave in the general direction of the dance-floor. "Um, nice turn out, don't you think?"

"Oh yes," Arram replied easily, compiling his own plate of sugary confections, "no one would dare miss the grand Midwinter Ball! Besides, lots of people are excited to see your master's—excuse me, your _guest's_—big present to the Emperor. Speaking of the item you mentioned in the garden…do you have any idea what it actually does?"

Alanna shrugged, "I'm not really into that magic stuff. All I know is it's really powerful."

Arram shook his head. "Well Little One, you probably should know, because if it is what I think it is, it's going to be big. Really big."

"Uh-huh," Alanna muttered disinterestedly, eyeing a chocolate-covered strawberry. Did she have enough room in her belly for one more bite? Hmm…yeah, she thought there was a corner of space left reserved for onetiny little strawberry!

"Of course, it has the potential to do great good for humanity, provide unlimited power for mages everywhere working in hospices and what have you…but it could also be dangerous, that much magic in one place like that, especially in the wrong hands…and I can tell you really don't care, do you? And I'm probably boring you as we speak…"

"Yep," Alanna said in response, but added a smile to show it was ok.

Arram sighed and looked off into the distance strangely.

"Something on your mind?" Alanna piqued.

"No…well, yes. We're friends right?" he asked slowly, eyeing her curiously.

Not seeing where this strange turn of the conversation had come from, Alanna quirked an eyebrow quizzically. "Ah…sure. I mean, you did sort of act as a human mattress when that tree decided to attack me—"

"You mean when you slipped?"

"_No_. When the tree attacked me."

"Oh, ok, if you say so," Arram chuckled, "the tree 'attacked' you. Right, so, we're friends yeah?"

"Mmhmm, I think we are. If you want to be anyway."

"Well…if we're friends…why didn't you tell me you're training in disguise to be a knight? And by the way, where's your prince tonight?"

Alanna practically fell into a giant jello mold shaped like the Emperor's royal head in surprise when she heard that! "H-h-how do you know? I, I don't understand…"

Arram wagged a finger at her as a small smile tugged on the corner of his lips. "Oh I have my sources…namely a city lass named Rispah from Corus whom I've been corresponding with for some time now. I actually met your Jonathan at Lord Penikth's house, though I didn't know at the time that he was the Crown Prince. Of course, I'd have thought he'd have found his way out of slavery by now so he could join us at the ball…but I guess not."

Alanna looked positively dumb-struck. Her hand was laying in a bowl of pudding and she didn't even realize it. Arram placed two fingers under her jaw and lifted it back up. "Just a little hint," he chortled, "Ladies don't gape. It's very unbecoming. And while you're at it, you might want to remove your hand from that pudding bowl." His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, "although, I wouldn't expect you to know that, given that you've been pretending to be a boy for six years now."

Alanna finally recovered enough to speak again, "_how did you know that?_" She hissed, "Rispah doesn't know I'm a girl! Not unless George told her…but he'd never do that, never!"

Arram tapped the side of his nose mischievously, "give me some credit Little One! She wrote that Prince Jonathan and his squire, _Alan,_ were missing. Then in Carthak I find a boy who matches the prince's description perfectly claiming he actually IS the prince, and he's missing his squire who got captured during the Tusaine war and then sold to slave traders in Carthak, which matches your story pretty closely, if I recall. Alanna, Alan…I can put two and two together y'know. You, Alanna are Alan, and Alan is you, Alanna. Mithros that's confusing! Isn't it?",

"Oh," she swallowed, "I—you're not—I mean—"

"No Little One," said Arram, slinging a friendly arm around her shoulders, "I'm not going to tell anyone…just be careful all right? And remember what I said about your master's little toy. Speaking of the mage man, here he comes himself! Ooh, uh, he actually doesn't look too happy…" Arram quickly removed him upper limb and coughed, "I'll see you later, good luck finding your pri—Mithros he's right behind you! Ciao, bella!"

And with one last final wave he was off, tangled in the hordes of people hovering by the dessert table. Although, his noticeable height allowed Alanna to keep an eye on him before he wandered around a stony pillar and disappeared from view entirely.

She shook her head, too dazed by the conversation she had just had with her new friend to think clearly. It was a good thing he seemed trustworthy, now there was yet _another_ person who knew her secret…who knew things could get so complicated so quickly? Shrugging, she returned to her near empty plate, only to find Lord Oppenheimer waiting anxiously at her elbow.

"Who was that man?" He grumbled crossly.

"Oh, him? No one, just some random guest who came for the food," Alanna brushed off airily, hiding the inward smile from her private joke.

Lord Oppenehimer eyes narrowed suspiciously, buthe apparently decided to let the incident go without further ado. Alanna had just polished off the last bit of a sugared éclair—much to the chagrin of the jealous stick-ladies lurking nearby eyeing her with a mixture of hungry envy and snide disdain—when the chamber orchestra picked up their violins, filling the air with a melodious dancing tune. Lord Oppenheimer held out a white-gloved hand expectantly; couples everywhere were pairing up. She wistfully glanced back at the creamy pastry before sweeping onto the floor for a light little waltz.

Across the room, Jon stood sullenly behind a pillar, watching with intense interest as Alanna cut a rug with her slave master.

_That should be _me_ dancing with her_…

He thought painfully to himself.

After months of trying to figure out exactly what his feelings for Alanna were, he was tired of analyzing every little gesture, every little word they had ever spoken to each other, every little confusing moment that had crossed between them that seemed like it might be more but he couldn't be sure and what if it wasn't but what if it was? All he knew was that he had missed her. Deeply, dearly, daily. Every day they had been separated, every second, it sometimes seemed. He just wanted to be with her again, to hear her laugh. Or see her smile. Or lick her lipsin determinationwhen she was challenged by a particularly hard math problem or fencing opponent. Maybe tease her until she got mad enough to chuck something at him, and then try to hide the grin that meant she wasn't actually angry with him. Maybe it was crazy, maybe he was out of his mind, but he didn't care anymore about rationalizing it. All he could do was _feel_…and what he felt was something dangerously akin to jealousy--some might even call it love.

Jon was so busy staring; he didn't even notice the man who stared at him…

**…Saphron…**

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_A/N:_ Ok, that was **_PART 1_** of the Carthaki ball, there is much MORE to come, but it's too long for one chapter so I had to split it up, I'm sorry. I'm writing as quickly as I can here, but I figured y'all rather have a little now and a little later than everything all at once much, much later! Ok? Ok. Woo.

And yes, I made a reference to King Arthur and Camelot etc., so sue lol. I like doing that, slipping notable names of interest in here or there…like the Earl of Grey (tea) or Mary and Pippy from way back when (Lord of the Rings.) Such is the author's prerogative. Also, Chartres and Lyons are the names of French cities. I was trying to think of guys' names that sound like they'd be playboy horndogs, and for some reason the French popped into mind (no offense…) and tada. Lol, that was your geography lessons for the day! Also, you _may_ have noted the overtly feminist overtones shadowing the whole chapter…what can I say, I want Jon to GROW as a character, to mature a bit as he becomes older and wiser, learn about life and women and all that jazz…he is a good guy y'know, once you get past the arrogant princely exterior. Nothing a day in a pair of high-heels and a corset can't fix though:-D

**NEXT CHAPTER: **

"Jon positively balked. His jaw dropped open in surprise and he nearly forgot how to stand. Was this man attempting to...to _woo_ him?"

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	35. Ch 35 The Midwinter Ball: Courting

**Homeward Bound: An Alternate Version of In the Hand of the Goddess**

**By Saphron**

_A/N:_ Holy moly Batman, that was sure a lot of reviews last chapter :-O I'm in shock! (In the best way possible, of course.) Wow…so yeah, I hope y'all enjoy part 2 as much as ya did part 1! If I get the same response again I'll just well…I mean…400 reviews…I never thought I'd live to see the day, glory halleluyah…

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**Chapter 35 – The Midwinter Ball, Part 2 of Part 2: Carthaki Style**

**Part 2: The Overly Persistent Courting Tactics of Several Lust-Struck Stalkers **(this is not the end of the Carthaki ball, there is one more part, but like I said before, all together it's looong…)

"_There is nothing so awkward as courting a woman whilst she is making sausages.**"**_

**--** Laurence Stern

(In this case, there is nothing so awkward as courting a woman who is actually a man in disguise, or courting a woman who can kick your ass with a good broadsword…)

**

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**

_Jon was so busy staring; he didn't even notice the man who stared at him…_

A boisterous, slightly balding man just peaking middle age was licking his lips as he munched enthusiastically on a treacle tart. He chattered animatedly with his table companions as he devoured his food, though they didn't seem to be very interested in his inane ramblings.

"I vas just zaying to ze waitor, zat I zimply adore your zouthern dezzertz! Thiz tart, zimply delizious! Ah, but ze vomen…ze are too, how do you zay? Too short. In my country, ze vomen are zo tall and strong! And ze 'ave hair! Your vomen 'ave no hair, it iz mozt confuzing. My late vife Olga Brunhilde Karkanofsky vas very preetty, very leggy, before she died. Zah, I like zem _large_ and _in-charge_…!"

When he found his plate empty, the nobleman patted the last bit of fruit filling off his handlebar mustache, and glanced up to spot the most beautiful "voman" he had ever laid eyes on. There she was, tall and muscular and athletic, with nice proper eyebrows, not those thin stringy plucked little lines that like to pretend they were actually eyebrows, and legs that stretched to the sky like tree trunks. There, standing behind that pillar!

"I muzt go talk to zat voman!" The lord exclaimed bewilderedly, "zhe iz zo perfect!"

Jon glowered as he continued to watch Lord Oppenheimer twirl Alanna around the dance floor. He was so close to her, and yet so far! He wanted to cut in and ask her dance, but he knew he could never do that dressed as a lady. Curse this stupid disguise that got him through the door but otherwise impeded his plans! He'd just have to wait until they sat down again before he could make his move and steal a moment alone with his squire…

He was just about to pop out from behind the pillar and position himself closer to where Alanna was dancing when a plump sausage-like finger tapped him on the shoulder. Thinking a fly had landed on him or something, Jon distractedly waved it away, but the chubby digit was quite persistent.

"Oh for Mithros' sake," Jon grumbled, turning to give the bug a good solid smack, "stupid fl—ack! Oh, um, hi."

"'ello!" Beamed the lord, gazing adoringly at the disorientated Jon.

Jon immediately adopted a high-pitched voice that he hoped resembled a woman's (but really resembled a dying cat with a bad case of catnip poisoning…) "Er, can I help you?" Jon asked curiously, wrinkling his brow in confusion.

"My Lady," the man breathed, "I am Lord Yohann Vilhelm Ulbrecht!"

"Erm, that's…nice," Jon squeaked in reply, at a loss for what to say. The man was staring at him funny. It was really strange… He had just resolved to turn around and ignore the crazy guy when a pair of wet, slobbering lips pawed his unsuspecting hand in an act vaguely resembling a kiss.

Jon positively balked. His jaw dropped open in surprise and he nearly forgot how to stand. Was this man attempting to...to _woo_ him?

"Vat is your name my sugarplum? I muzt know! For you are, how do ze say? Ze pearl of ze zea! Ze apple of my eyez! And…ze cherry on my pie!"

A dark expression crossed Jon's face…_what_ was this man talking about? Was he even speaking Common? All he had caught was something that vaguely sounded like a question about his name… "Er, my name? My name, ah, right, yes…it is…Lady…" Jon furiously glanced around the room, desperate for inspiration. Why hadn't he thought of a girl's name beforehand? Mithros, was he an idiot. Spotting a nearby table's decorative centerpiece, he hurriedly replied in relief, "Lady Candle! Er, Candlerella…yes, my name is Lady Candlerella. Eheh."

Taking "Lady Candelrella's" stuttering response as a sign of female bashfulness brought about by such a manly display of gentlemanliness, the lord looked positively delighted as a trembling hand presented itself in front of Jon's nose.

"Vill my lady give me ze 'onor of a dance, preetty please yah?"

Jon wouldn't have been more terrified if a herd of stampeding elephants had broken through the front doors and stormed the dance floor heading straight towards him.

"Ummm…I was actually ah, just waiting for someone…right over there! Er, that fellow over yonder! Look, he's calling me to him right now!" Jon waved enthusiastically in the vague direction of the opposite wall and, heedless to the fact that no one was waving back, charged off purposely without so much as a hasty goodbye.

Lord Yohann Vilhelm Ulbrecht chuckled merrily to himself and twirled his handlebar mustache. "I vill get you yet my preetty, juzt you vait and zee!"

Jon spent a good half-hour hiding behind a series of potted plants and in one desperate case, dashing into the gentlemen's toilet…until a yelping half-naked nobleman with his trousers around his ankles reminded him that he was disguised as a female and hence should have popped into the _ladies_ restroom.

He had just stopped for a bit of a breather, thinking he was safe from the vulture-like stalking of Lord Yoho-whatever, when he spotted the chubby nobleman rushing hurriedly towards him, his legs pumping madly like an overly enthused bulldog. Jon dropped to the floor and darted under the tablecloth. The floor was sticky with some unidentifiable substance Jon didn't even want to know about, but who cared? He snickered to himself, finally, he was safe! The crazy mustached man would never find him here in his fortress of solitude!

Jon thought too soon. A plump head bent sideways appeared in thin air under a ruffle of tabled cloth. Inwardly Jon groaned—he was trapped! Trapped like a duck during hunting season!

"Ho ho ho, zere you are my leetle pet! You vere not 'iding from me, I 'ope! He he he, let us dance ze night away! Dance like ze leetle birdies from my 'omeland! Ze dance and dance and dance! Zah!"

Before Jon could stammer out some kind of credible excuse, like he was chronically allergic to dancing, or he suddenly remembered he had no feet, Lord Yohann Vilhelm Ulbrecht clutched him by the forearms and wrenched him out from under the table. He brandished a rotund arm like a lasso, heaving him onto the dance floor. It was either walk or be dragged, and Jon had little choice but to follow.

The music started again with a vengeance, this time a fast little number that required everyone to switch partners! Jon flitted from one man's arms to another's, most of whom he was taller than, all the while craning his neck to get a glance at Alanna. One moment he'd spot her, twirling and spinning a mere few feet away, and the next she was gone, lost among the flock of billowing dresses and capering tunics! At one point he thought he had caught her eye, but she had glanced away too quickly for him to be sure. He practically growled when he couldn't find her again, for he didn't know she had subtly snuck away from the throng of dancing nobles to head towards the ballroom door.

It had been her plan all along, to wait for the perfect song and make a break for it. Here was her chance! Lord Oppenheimer was clutched in the arms of the hefty Lady Mimi, and she was free as a bird without her slave collar on. He wouldn't know she had left until the song ended, which wouldn't be for another five minutes at least. The promenade was a long one.

She picked up her skirts and hurried towards the entrance door, shaking the thought of that strange noblewoman with the sapphire blue eyes out of her head. It was completely crazy, but the lady almost reminded her of…no, it couldn't be, it was just the light playing cruel tricks on her. All the more reason to hurry out of there and find Jon as quickly as possible!

She had just reached the hallway outside of the main door when she was waylaid by the grinning royal greeter.

"Hello there precious, what are you doing outside of the ballroom? Did you come to find me? Why sweetheart, I'm touched…" Chartres chuckled, scooping an arm around Alanna in one quick fluid motion, as if he had practiced the move many times before.

"More like touched in the head," Alanna snapped, shoving away from him roughly. She didn't have time to be romanced by some cocky, sex-starved doorman! She had a ball to escape from!

Chartres cocked an eyebrow as his eyes roamed over her entire body in slow-motion, taking in every inch of her curved figure. "That could be arranged…" he drawled slowly, a lascivious smile lurking on the corner of his lips. "And of course, in return, I'd surely repay the favor…"

(_A/N:_ For younger/more innocent audience members out there (btw sorry to corrupt you), male genitalia is often referred to as 'head.' Hence, you see the double innuendo of 'touched in the head,' yes? Eheh. Just don't yell your mommies you learned it from me, please!)

Alanna gasped in outrage. This man was implying something _extremely_ inappropriate! She was a _noblewoman_, and she did _not_ fancy being talked to in such a disrespectful manor!

"Come on baby, I know that old mage lord can't possibly satisfy you the way a _real_ man could, but I could touch you in ways you've never been touched before…come on baby, let's go back to my rooms, I promise you'll like it…"

Chartres attempted to move in for the kill, but he didn't expect the short little noblewoman to have the strength or agility of a full-grown warrior. She had him in a headlock before his tongue could so much as leave its mouth, and she wasn't letting go anytime soon.

"AHH!" the man cried, trying to wrest himself free. "What the hell is your fucking problem Lady? By the Hag, gettofferme!"

"My _problem_ Alanna grunted, redoubling her hold and giving him a good swift knee-kick to the lower stomach, "is stupid—" grunt "—arrogant—" kick "—bastards—" karate-chop "—like _you_!"

Chartres fell to the floor, clutching himself and moaning painfully. A smug smile perched on her face as she airily brushed her hands off in satisfaction, stepping over his twitching body to face the main door. But instead she found Lord Oppenheimer, looking perturbed.

"_There_ you are!" He cried, shaking his head and reaching out a hand to draw her closer. "Where did you go? I lost sight of you during the promenade and couldn't find you anywhere!"

"Er, I was just, um…looking for the little girl's room! I just have to tinkle, tehe," Alanna trilled, mentally slapping her forehead in disgust. Did she just describe the act of urinating as 'tinkling'? Ech, she was turning into a soft noble lady more and more each day…well, minus the ass-whooping she had just delivered to a Mr. Horny Doorman.

Lord Oppenheimer frowned, "it's inside, near the potted plants. But hurry up, I want to talk to you about something important!" He waved Alanna inside and she had little choice but to follow. She entered the restroom scowling; cursing the day that stupid doorman was born. She would have gotten away if it wasn't for him! And what if there wasn't another dance that afforded her such an opportune escape prospect? What if she never left this dratted ball, but was forced to stay with Lord Oppenheimer for the rest of the night…literally, the _rest_ of the night. With the way he was acting lately, she wouldn't be surprised if he tried to put a move on her the way the doorman did…

He wasn't exactly used to socializing with ladies, and Alanna didn't think he knew the proper way to express what he was feeling in a healthy and normal way. Plus, having never asked a woman out before, he had hence never been rejected before either. The first time getting rejected by a member of the opposite sex was a doozy…some people stayed angry and bitter for years. Alanna didn't want that to happen with Lord Oppenheimer and her. They were friends, sort of, albeit odd ones. (If they were _really_ friends however, she wouldn't be physically enslaved to him!) But she had no romantic feelings towards him whatsoever, and she didn't want to have to deal with yet _another_ man slobbering all over her that night. Mithros, _this_ was what happened when you wore skirts, men looked at you funny!

_George vowed to love you, without ever seeing you in skirts…_ A nasty corner of her mind protested. But Alanna waived the thought away quickly; she didn't want to be thinking about George when she was all ready homesick _and_ missing Jon.

Meanwhile, Jon had problems of his own to deal with. Lord Yohann Vilhelm Ulbrech seemed completely oblivious to his dance partner's lack of enthusiasm; he continued to twirl 'Lady Candlerella' around the floor happily, chatting about gods knew what.

"Yah, I like to eat ze zauzagez of my country bezt! Ze vienershnitzel and ze frankfurter are uber delizious, and zo are ze brockwurst, ze kielbasa and ze bratwurst, yum-yum-yum! One day I vill take you to my country and you vill eat many many meat-sticks, yah!"

Jon nodded disinterestedly. Where in the world had Alanna gone? He couldn't find her anywhere… When Lord Yoho-whatever stepped on his foot—for the _fifth_ time—Jon decided he had had enough. Manors or no manors, he couldn't deal with this insufferable nobleman one minute longer! Sure he was taking a risk blowing his cover, but he didn't care anymore, he was _done_ with the whole dancing charade.

Jon pulled away and strode to the far corner of the room, hoping to discourage the love-struck wooer by muttering something about a sudden headache. Lord Yohann Vilhelm Ulbrech trotted eagerly after him, worriedly asking if 'Lady Candlerella' needed a healer. Finally Jon turned around to snap at the noble thanks but no thanks, when a pair of slobbering, puckered lips beneath a curled handlebar mustache attempted to plant themselves directly on his face.

Jon pulled back in alarm—thank Mithros he was taller than the other man, the lips missed their target and instead hit the bottom of his chin. But still, it was a little too close for comfort!

"_What are you doing_?" Jon shrieked, waving his hands furiously in front of him, as if to ward off another potential kiss attempt. "I'm not interested ok? Now go away and leave me alone!"

Jon marched off in the opposite direction, while Lord Yohann Vilhelm Ulbrech trailed after him, flapping his arms animatedly, crying, "vait my little candied yam! I am most sorry if I vas too forvard vith you, but you are just ze most gorgeous voman I have ever zeen! You are even better zan ze finest wienershnitzel zuazage! Pleaze my blueberry muffin top, just one more kizz! One more? Pleaze pleaze with ze zugar on ze top, yah?"

"NO!" Jon cried, dodging behind a chair and picking up a fork to chuck at his pursuer's head. "N-O means _no_! What part of NO do you not understand? No, no, no, no, NO!"

"But my sveet little banana fritter—"

"NO!"

_Clang_, went another piece of cutlery, this time a marmalade spoon.

"My honey wunny cuddly poo cake—"

"NO!"

_Smack_, went a butter knife, knocking into the nobleman's cummerbund.

"My snookie wookum weetie bunny pie—"

"_NO!_"

_Thwack_, went a gravy bowl, sailing gracefully over the tablecloth.

Finally Jon roared in anger, snatched the wig off his head, and dropped his voice a full octave lower. "_Listen¸_ buddy," Jon growled, "when a woman says _NO_, you have got to RESPECT her wishes, _got it_?"

Lord Yohann Vilhelm Ulbrech was totally agape. His eyes bulged out of his head like a bug's, his arms hung limply at his side like two dead logs, and his fleshy jowls quivered like jello. His beautiful 'large and in-charge' princess had suddenly turned into…turned into…a large and in-charge _queen_! Why, she was even more beautiful with her hair cut short and her voice deep and sexy!

"Ohhh, my lady," the man gushed, falling to his knees, "I vorship ze ground zat you walk on! Ohhh, ohhh! Let me kizz your feet my beautiful goddezz!"

Jon gasped in exasperation; did the fool _ever_ give up? He stormed off angrily, a chorus of hearty "NO!"s belted out over his shoulder following after him…

**…Saphron…**

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_A/N:_ More to come! Yay for Part 2 :-D I hope you guys had fun, I know I sure did. And thanks again for all of those fabulous reviews last chapter! Warmed the cockles of me heart, it did…

_To Be Continued…_

**NEXT CHAPTER:**

"Alanna paused mid-sob. Her breath caught in her throat, and suddenly she found her heart pounding a million times faster. That voice…could it be… She was afraid to look, afraid her raging grief had caused her to make up the whole thing in her mind…but she was even more afraid to not look. The voice might be a figment of her imagination, but then again, it could be the real thing…

"_Jon,_" she whispered, turning her tear-streaked face towards him…"

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	36. Chapter 36 Reunion at Last!

**Homeward Bound: An Alternate Version of In the Hand of the Goddess**

**By Saphron**

_A/N:_ Ok, I know I went a _little_ wild with the last chapter…but that's ok. Some chapters aren't written for realism, they're written for laughs. Lord Yohan's accent is vaguely East German, just fyi (all those sausages he mentioned are real types of German hot dogs) but overall he was a composite character. Let's pretend he was from Galla or something. And this took so long to get up because we putnew carpets inour house and had to unplug the computers and move all our stuff, sorry mates.But anyway…enjoy the reunion! And thanks for sticking with me for so long, I really appreciate it kids :)

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**Chapter 36: The Midwinter Ball – Part 3 of Part 2: Carthaki Style**

**Part 3: Reunion at Last!**

"_Sweet is the dream, divinely sweet, when absent souls in fancy meet."  
_

-- Sir Thomas More

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_**Last time, on Homeward Bound…**_

_Alanna was actually grateful when about ten of Penikth's guards burst in on their elongated hug and pulled the two apart, that is until they began shoving Jon backwards towards the kitchens and dragging Alanna in the opposite direction._

"_Jon!" She screamed, attempting to free herself from the arms of her captures. But her struggling did no good; wrestling had always been her weakest subject._

"_Alanna!" he yelled back, before a hand muffled his mouth. His bit down—hard—and the fingers dropped from his face. He sucked in a deep breath and cried out one last time, "I'll find you again Alanna, on Mithros' name, I swear I'll find you!"_

…

_Lord Oppenheimer frowned, "it's inside, near the potted plants. But hurry up, I want to talk to you about something important!" He waved Alanna inside and she had little choice but to follow. She entered the restroom scowling; cursing the day that stupid doorman was born. She would have gotten away if it wasn't for him!_

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Alanna scrambled out of the ladies toilet looking resentful, but Lord Oppenheimer didn't seem to notice. He ushered her through a pair of large glass doors on the side of the room, out towards the rose garden. They winded their way through a small vale of eucalyptus trees until they reached a decorative fountain with a rosy cherub on top spouting water from his mouth in a delicate arch. He sat her down on a cold stone bench and opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Agitatedly he paced the garden, getting more and more flustered each minute. Alanna sighed in boredom and tucked her hands in the crooks of her elbows, arms crossed. It was a rather chilly winter night after all, even in the warmer southern lands. 

Finally he slowed his pace and sat down to kneel by her side. "Listen, Alanna…" he began, while inwardly she cringed at his softened voice. "I know it's unconventional to love a slave, but I've never felt this way about a woman before… you do something to me…I just… oh Alanna, I'm so happy you're mine!"

Alanna didn't know how to reply, she was completely flustered. Yes, she had been half expecting her slave master to make some sort of move on her that night, it was inevitable with her dress cut low enough to tempt the gods, but she didn't fancy such bold declarations of love so soon!

Lord Oppenheimer looked relieved; he had finally gotten what he had wanted to say for ages off his chest. Alanna's discomfiture was lost on his oblivious nature; he was the type of man who saw the world a certain way and expected everyone else to see it that way too. He was like an ostrich that stuck its head in the sand and assumed if he couldn't see the world, the world couldn't see him. In his mind, logic precluded that if he loved Alanna, she must love him back. And if he thought the sky was green, than the sky was green!

"Now that that's out of the way," he beamed cheerfully, springing to his feet, "I'm off to go get The Gadget, I left it in my rooms for safe-keeping, but I want to present it to the Emperor right away! You stay right here whilst I'm away…I don't want some arrogant young buck swooping in here trying to romance _my_ woman!"

Alanna struggled to hide her sigh of relief. Finally, he was leaving, and she'd have a moment to just breathe, to recover from the shock of her slave master's little speech. And oh yeah, escape the chains of slavery!

But Alanna had hoped too soon.

Lord Oppenheimer had made it halfway down the garden lane when he suddenly turned on his heel and slapped himself on the forehead. "I almost forgot!" He cried, pulling a small black metal and leather bracelet out of his pocket. Alanna cringed warily as he approached the bench. Was this some sort of demented love present? But surely even a man with as little fashion sense as Lord Oppenheimer could tell the bracelet was hideous! Mithros, it almost looked like…

"Your slave collar! Or actually, it's a slave anklet now. Rather clever, don't you think? See, it tucks right under your skirts where no one can see it!"

Alanna positively balked. She sprang to her feet and glared daggers at him with all her might. "_My slave-collar?_" She hissed, "first you declare undying love, and yet you want to _chain_ me like some, some, pet dog!"

Lord Oppenheimer's eyes widened in surprise; clearly he hadn't been expecting such a vehement reaction from his skinny little slave. "It's for your protection darling—"

"My _protection?_" Alanna seethed, "you call _enslavement_ 'protection?'"

"I told you," Lord Oppenheimer frowned, "I don't want some idiot male swooping into the garden and attempting to drag you onto the dance floor—or worse, his bedroom! This anklet is magicked to keep you within a ten foot parameter, it will keep you safe. Now, I'm off to get The Gadget, be a good girl and wait nice by the pretty fountain. See how adorable this itty-bitty cutsie-wutsie wittle cherub is? Aww, don't you feel better now my sugar-wugar baby girl?"

No words escaped Alanna's dropped jaw; she was too shocked by Lord Oppenheimer's condescending manor to reply. Had the fool just used _baby talk_ with her? Had he _actually _just called her his 'sugar-wugar baby girl?'

Her slave-master trotted off whistling with a quick flick of his hands that sent the anklet flying under her skirts. Alanna felt the cursed thing snap shut around her leg, a snug but not uncomfortable fit. The doors were closed tight enough so the entire room full of nobles did not hear the furious scream of indignation that ripped through her throat as she stamped her foot and cursed her slave master with every known swear word in the Common language. Bitter tears cursed down her cheek as she threw herself back on the cold, hard stone bench. It was so unfair! She was supposed to grow up and be a knight, not some stupid nobleman's pet 'sugar baby!' Yet her she was, stuck in slavery, chained like an animal in a foreign country hundreds of miles from her homeland and friends! It was so terribly cruel and just bloody _unfair_!

Unbeknownst to the raging Alanna, Jon, or rather, Lady Candlerella, had spotted the short redhead be shepherded out of the ballroom by her overbearing slave-master, and had followed the pair diligently. He had hid behind a rather large hydrangea bush until he was sure Lord Oppenheimer had left for good, but now it was time for him to make his appearance at last.

"Hullo," a soft voice murmured near her left ear, "don't be sad my lady, it will be all right…"

"Oh shove off!" Alanna cried from beneath buried arms. She was so _not_ in the mood to be hit on—yet _again_—but some brainless clod of a man!

She heard a quiet chuckle, "is that how squires speak to their knight masters these days? Because I could have _sworn_ the code of chivalry expressly forbids such blatant rudeness…but hey, maybe they changed it while we were gone."

Alanna paused mid-sob. Her breath caught in her throat, and suddenly she found her heart pounding a million times faster. That voice…could it be…? She was afraid to look, afraid her raging grief had caused her to make up the whole thing in her mind…but she was even more afraid to _not_ look. The voice might be a figment of her imagination, but then again, it could be the real thing…

"_Jon,_" she whispered, turning her tear-streaked face towards him. Or—her? There was no Jon standing before her, there was just, it was only, merely a…_woman_. Another air-headed lady, albeit a rather manly-looking one. Alanna's eyes narrowed, as fury overcame misery. This wretched bitch had just played the cruelest joke on her!

"If Arram put you up to this, I swear to Mithros I'll kill him!" Alanna roared, "I can't believe he told my secret to some, some _floozy_, just so he could get a laugh! Arram, where are you, I know you're hiding out here somewhere! Come out you bastard, so I can chop off your manhood and feed it to the dogs!"

Jon coughed, fighting to keep from bursting into laughter right there on the spot. Alanna hated it when people laughed at her. But she was just so funny when she was furious! Her cheeks went bright red and she yowled like a cat that had just gotten its tail stepped on… But he knew he couldn't keep her in this agitated state forever, they had waited too long to be reunited, and he wanted the moment to be sweet and romantic, not comical.

"T'is no joke Alanna of Trebond," Jon smiled, slipping off the wig he wore on his head, and wiping a hand over his red-stained mouth to remove the scarlet color, "it's really me, Prince Jonathan. I swore once long ago that'd I'd find you again, and here I am…"

Alanna's eyes widened as she gasped in shock. It really was Jon! There was rouge dotted on his chiseled cheekbones and his eyelashes were curled dangerously above his sapphire blue eyes, but through the face paint and fake chest padding, despite the corset and heels, Alanna knew deep down in her bones that it really was her Prince, come to find her at last.

"Oh _Jon!_" She cried, flinging herself into his arms. It was such a cliché lady-like thing to do, but she didn't care. He pressed her tightly to his chest and held her as if he never intended to let go. Later Alanna couldn't recall how it had happened or who had started it, but somehow their lips had found themselves interlocked together, their tongues eagerly exploring each other's mouths, and Jon's warm hands entwined in her tumbling curls. Her hands roamed over his chest and along his muscled arms, as she reassured herself that her Prince had come to no bodily harm while they had been separated. He did likewise, running his palms along the sway of her back and the gentle curve of her breasts. She had to fight to breathe properly, she felt giddy, and was grateful his tight hold kept her from falling.

They surfaced for air and than met again, the heat from their bodies encircling them like the shelter of the eucalyptus grove. His deep passionate kisses expressed what no words could express; that he had missed her, thought endlessly of her, loved her. He looked at Alanna like a thirsty man who had roamed the desert for ages and finally come upon a glorious sparkling oasis pool. His eyes drank up the sight of her, and she was filled with dancing butterflies that tumbled in her belly excitedly. She was terrified, exhilarated, and overjoyed all at once. But overall, she was simply happy. She had found her Prince again.

After he had thoroughly kissed her, they stood for a moment squeezed together, basking in the warm glow of reunion. Alanna eventually broke the serene silence by murmuring into his shoulder, "so, why exactly are you dressed as a woman again? Because, you see, when _I_ dress up as a member of the opposite sex, it's to win my knight's shield. You however…oh gods Jon, _please_ tell me you haven't had some dramatic epiphany that's resulted in an 'alternate lifestyle change,' because I'm open-minded, but I don't think we could handle _two_ cross-dressers in the royal palace…"

Jon scowled indignantly over the top of her head, "it's a long story, but _no_, this is _not_ a permanent change. They wouldn't let me into the ball as a nobleman, so I had to don these cursed skirts. Which reminds me, smart move deciding to be a knight instead of a gentle lady, I never knew hot wax could _hurt_ so much!"

Alanna laughed and tucked herself tighter in the groove of his collarbone. She felt almost sleepy all of a sudden; she was so content and warm. Cicadae chirped a sweet winter tune from behind flower petals and long stems of grass, fireflies buzzed softly near their heads, lighting up the garden like little stars fallen to earth, and even the crescent moon hung low in the sky seemed to be in on the conspiracy to make the night perfect for romance. Contentedly, she sighed…but Jon drew away reluctantly.

"What is it?" she murmured dazedly, almost half-asleep in his arms.

"Alanna," he whispered in a serious voice, "much as I would love to stay here forever in this beautiful garden with you, I really think we should be getting a move on. I know the perfect place in the city for us to stay the night, it's called the Sandlot Inn, I'm friends with the rogues there—hey, what's wrong? Why are you looking like that?"

As soon as Jon had opened his mouth and suggested they leave, Alanna had bitten down on her lip in worry. For she couldn't walk more than ten paces with Lord Oppenheimer's spell on her…she was trapped in the rose garden until he saw fit to free her. She couldn't leave with him. It was impossible. They had _finally_ found each other, but now…

"I can't Jon," she murmured, eyes downcast. "I have to stay."

"What?' Jon balked, sapphire eyes widening. "Why in Mirthros' name not? I thought you—I mean—wait, don't tell me you, you have feelings for, for that stupid, pompous—"

"No Jon! Of course not you dolt," Alanna huffed, rolling her eyes. "But that stupid, pompous mage strapped a magic anklet to my leg that makes it impossible for me to leave this garden until he comes back and removes it. See?" She lifted up her skirts to reveal, true to her words, an ugly black leather strap lashed to her ankle. Jon swore and bent down to attempt to remove it, but he met with little luck. The lock was strong as steel. "Don't you think I already tried that?" she asked bitterly, "it's _magic_ Jon, you know how difficult powerful spells are to break…Mithros, I even tried George's lock-picking tricks, but it's not an ordinary metal clasp here…it's cursed _magic_."

"But you have the gift!" He vented angrily, "and so do I! Maybe together…?"

Alanna's eyes lit up, "I hadn't thought of that…" she murmured softly. "Ok, take my hand, and on the count of three just…I don't know, shove your gift into the lock and try and open it!"

For three second she waited with bated breath, her slender hands held in union with Jon's strong ones. Together they reached deep inside their cores and withdrew the strands of glowing magic within them; Jon's a deep blue, Alanna's a vibrant purple. The gift's mingled into a pulsating indigo as it surged into the cold steel of the metal lock. For a moment the anklet grew warm; Alanna felt the metal heat up uncomfortably. She gritted her teeth through the pain—she had handled worse before!

One moment stretched into two, then three, finally four—it seemed as if an eternity had passed in that short span of time. Jon's brow was furrowed in concentration, and sweat poured down his shoulder blades in a steady rivulets. Mithros, this mage's gift was strong!

Jon glanced up and saw Alanna's dangerously pale pallor. Her eyes were shut tightly and pain was etched on every inch of her gentle features. He broke the spell in alarm, tearing his hands away from her so quickly she nearly tumbled over.

"Why'd…you…stop?" Alanna gasped, trying to regain her lost breath.

"It was hurting you," Jon murmured, concern engraved in his grimace. "And besides, it wasn't working anyway…the spell's too strong."

"I could have handled it…" Alanna muttered, though her shaking hands claimed otherwise.

"Sure you could have, everyone knows Alanna the Fearless Female Warrior is actually invincible," Jon commented dryly, enfolding her quivering hands in his steady ones.

Alanna sniffed in disdain. She had forgotten what an annoying prick Jon could be sometimes. "For you information, I _am_ perfectly—" she began to admonish, but was interrupted by the sight of an approaching figure in the distance, "shit! Lord Oppenheimer's coming back! You've other men—er, though you're not exactly dressed as one…but still! You don't want to be thrown out of the ball or arrested by the guards! Scat!"

"But Alanna! We just found each other again! How can I possibly leave you?" Jon cried, making a split decision and whipping out Lightning from beneath his skirts, fully intent on challenging Lord Oppenheimer to a dual on the spot.

Alanna's eyes widened at the sight of her beloved sword. "How did you…? No, never mind, tell me later, it's not important now. You have to go, Jon, you can't stay and fight Lord Oppenheimer right outside the ballroom door where everyone can see! You'll be caught for sure! And then they'll find out that not only are you a man in disguise, but you're a runaway slave…do you know what the punishment in Carthak is for running away and impersonating a noble? Death, Jon…it's _death_."

"But Alanna—!"

"NO! It's not worth it! The Prince of Tortall will _not_ die on my account; now_ get out of here_, Lord Oppenheimer is almost around the corner!"

For the briefest second Jon hesitated, every fiber of his being tensely hanging on end. He wanted so badly to stay and fight, but he knew the smart move was to go. There'd be other chances for him to be with Alanna…but right now he had to run. In heels, as fast as he could.

Jon sheathed the blade, tucked it beneath his skirts, and hurriedly affixed his wig to his head, ignoring the fact that it was on sideways. A lock of fake hair in his right eye was so not his priority right now. "Just tell me where I can find you later, after the ball…your rooms here in the Emperor's palace, where are they?"

"In the west wing, on the third story, down the hall and to the right, there's a statue of a knight outside the door, but Jon you can't come to my rooms when Lord Oppenheimer's there! He's sleeping right next door!"

"We'll figure something out," Jon hurriedly whispered, ducking behind a large hydrangea bush. "I'll see you soon, I promise!"

He was gone in an instant, vanished into thin air like a puff of smoke. That last she saw of her prince was a flash of silver from his glass slipper, before he disappeared into the darkness for good.

--

Meanwhile, from the ballroom floor, two men were peering through the large glass windows, looking as if their haul of Midwinter presents had been exceptionally good that year. A large spittle of drool was actually hanging from Chartres' dumbstruck mouth, and Lord Yohan Vilhem Ulbrecht couldn't stop twirling his handlebar mustache gleefully.

They had watched in awe and lust as Lady Candlerella and Lady Alanna had joined together in the rose garden for the world's hottest lesbian make-out session! Then the girl-on-girl action got even better, when Lady Candlerella dove under Lady Alanna's skirts for a little oral pleasuring! Mithros! It was the best, most pornographic show either man had ever seen in their lives!

"Zat vas very, very good yah?" Lord Yohan Vilhem Ulbrecht breathed, his nose still pressed firmly to the glass. "In my country, ve never see ze ladies kizz each other like zat, but I do love ze uber lezbianz, yez I do!"

"Ohhhhh yeah, so do I…" Chartres replied idiotically, a stupid grin plastering his glassy-eyed face. "I don't think I'll be able to walk straight for the next half hour…"

(_A/N_: When boys get boners, ie: their manhood becomes erect, they have a bit of trouble walking properly. They can do it, but they sort of have to slouch and shuffle lol, it's actually kind of funny to watch…)

_To Be Continued…_

…**Saphron…**

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* * *

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_A/N:_ YES! REUNION AT LAST! OH THE JOY! OH THE RAPTURE!

Oh, wait, crap, they were seperated again weren't they? Awww, horseshit...

No worries kids, there's much more A/J fluff forthcoming...detailed A/J fluff...I've always wanted to write some really steamy sex scenes. PS: What's your opinion on slipping in a little slash? (Not with Alanna and Jon of course, but with two other fairly main characters...opinions?)

So, did you all like the chapter? Was it everything you hoped for? Were you disappointed, relieved, happy? Feedback please yes?

* * *


	37. Chapter 37 REBEL

**_Homeward Bound: An Alternate Version of In the Hand of the Goddess_**

**_By Saphron_**

_A/N_: HOLY –insert expletive here- I leave for a week and WOW look at all those reviews! –joys, happiness, rapture- I'm sooo glad you all liked last chapter so much! _Thank you_ for your constructive feedback, it was most helpful! And thanks for the plot ideas, I have a plan all ready for how Jon and Alanna are going to be reunited (again) but I love hearing YOUR ideas too! I'm still unsure about the slash, it remains to be seen, the little "uber lezbianz" scene was partly a test to gauge audience reaction. For the most part it met with high approval, which is quite promising. Obviously, although the scene was intended to be funny, I in no way meant any disrespect towards gay people, as I appreciate, tolerate, and value all human beings regardless of their sexual orientation. You may have noticed, but I intend this fic to be a little edgy, a little provocative. It deals with slavery, ethics, sex, sexual awareness, etc. so… I'll probably have to up the rating at some point lol. Like right now. Anyway, enough blather, read on, read on. And again, sorry for the delay, I'm carrying sixteen units at college this semester, and it's quite time-consuming, oy…but I really do read and appreciate and love each and every one of your reviews and I DO care about everything you say, and fear not, I'm not dead, just busy…

_PS:_ If you usually skip Tortall scenes, there IS a Carthak scene with Alanna at the bottom.

* * *

**Chapter 37 – R.E.B.E.L.**

_"The most heroic word in all languages is revolution." _

-- Eugene Debs

* * *

**_Tortall:_**

Gary paced from one corner of the room to the other, each angry stride wearing a thin groove along the smooth stone floor. He glanced again at the windows and scowled; the cold metal bars remained, taunting him, entrapping him, maddening him. The solid wooden door was equally impenetrable; Duke Roger has added not just the standard deadbolt lock, but the strongest sealing charms this side of the Western hemisphere. He was trapped, trapped like a fly in a spider's web. And all he could do was pace fruitlessly from one inconsequential point to another, going nowhere, always nowhere.

Gary's only comfort remained in the fact that he was caged in his own bedroom, which thankfully included all the basic amenities necessary for a comfortable existence, such as books, bedding, and toilet facilities. However, he was still confined to a square box roughly twenty feet by thirty, and the mere notion of imprisonment was infuriating. He soon grew bored of furiously throwing his books across the room and pounding on the (silencing spell enchanted) door. Even following a tireless ant carrying a bread crumb three times the size of its entire body mass across the cracks and crevices of his floor boards soon grew wearisome for the bored to tears knight.

Duke Roger was clever enough to know that if he threw one of the realm's most beloved knights in the (incredibly public) dungeons, a costly civil war would be delivered at his feet in moments. Instead, he had placed the youth under house arrest and instructed the court that Gary was ill and not to be disturbed while he recovered from his "sudden mental breakdown."

It was a brilliant strategy, really. Gary was out of the way, where he could no longer spin his dangerous web of knowledge and influence others to rebel against the Duke, but at the same time his captivity appeared innocent to the public eye. Duke Roger was feigning a devout bout of concern over Gary's mental well-being that could rival the Lady of Naxen's, and everyone seemed to be under the impression that Gary had indeed snapped from the strains of knighthood.

While a few rare but keenly perceptive nobles were suspicious enough to question such a convenient excuse, most were blissfully oblivious to the truth. Oh, Gary's little outburst had certainly raised a few eyebrows, but there was hardly enough evidence to prove the acting King of high treason! Some might have been inclined to belief if Gary had been present and able to reinforce his shocking claims, but his conspicuous absence only lead to doubt and a regression back to the safety of denial. Such was the Duke's intentions, and such was the result.

Nonetheless, Gary's friends did what they could to restore the reputation of their missing comrade, if only through subtle means that would not catch the Duke's vengeful eye. Myle's history lessons to the squires seemed to suddenly lean heavily on past textbook cases of high treason, such as the assassination of King Midas IV by his royal advisor Sir Goldentouch, and Raoul was observed by a host of onlookers thoroughly stomping on the legs of a sniveling page by the name of Matty who reportedly claimed one dreary day during fencing practice that Sir Gary was "mad as a hatter and deserved to be locked up with the other paranoid conspiracy theory lunatics who think Stormwings were real and Prince Jonathan had been kidnapped by an all female crew of swash-buckling pirates." Sir Raoul apparently did not take this notion too well.

Yet these meager attempts to right what was so unjustly wrong in the political arena of Tortall's upper-class did little to change the dire situation at hand. Gary's dramatic announcement was quickly losing the limelight to the latest scandals and court gossip of romance and chivalry, whereas previously all that was discussed at tea parties and picnics was the "accusation," as it was quickly christened. Now the main topic of such affairs typically featured the latest marriage proposals and jealous financial estimates of various fiefs' fiscal worth, with the occasional speculation on foreign diplomatic affairs.

Nonetheless, Myles and Raoul had managed to gather a small but dedicated covert group of believers, who gathered weekly in secret to discuss what could be done to aide their cause. Together they called themselves the Resistance Establishment of Believers against the Evil Lord, or R.E.B.E.L for short. Among their numbers they counted the original founders Sir Myles and Sir Raoul; Gary's close friends, squires Douglas and Geoffrey; the younger pages Jerome, Taylor, and Justin, all three inseparable best friends whom Gary had taken under his wing some many moons ago for a little advanced fencing instruction out of the kindness of his heart (and aided by the fact that Jerome's older sister was the lovely Lady Cynthia of Devonshire); Stephan the horse hostler, who knew Gary to be an honest young man, and had picked up from George that Duke Roger was not to be trusted; Cookie the palace's head Chef, and her favorite assistant Minnie, who often giggled when Sir Gary wandered into the kitchen for a late night snack and kept him long after his piece of pumpkin pie had been eaten; Lady Ameetha, who was madly in love with the imprisoned young knight and thought it quite the romantic tale that if she could aide him in such an important and obvious way he would surely return her unrequited feelings of ardor tenfold, so had knowingly sought Raoul's assistance immediately following the accusation, aware of the man's position as her beloved's best friend; Sir Gareth the elder, an obvious choice; and lastly, Sir Alex of Tirragan, who had approached Raoul much like the Lady Ameetha, suspecting plans were in the works to free their childhood friend. Sir Myles had privately questioned Sir Alex's loyalty and true intentions, given his history as Duke Roger's personal squire, but Raoul had insisted Alex was with them solidly. Myles had little proof against the court's best fencer, and left the matter to rest, knowing he'd never be able to persuade his partner in rebellion. However, he remained vigilant, his piercing eyes surprisingly lucid behind the normally clouded haze of alcoholic stupor, leaving Sir Alex little chance to sabotage their all-ready fragile and danger-fraught plans.

"Hush now," Raoul directed towards the milling, muttering mass of followers crowding his tiny knight's apartment. A palable tension hung in the air; although Duke Roger had proclaimed no edicts banning an pro-Gary movement, few had illusions that if caught they'd survive to tell the tale. If Raoul had not known and trusted each man or woman present personally, they'd never had made it through the door. Their covert society remained a fortress of caution. "It is time to begin the first meeting of R.E.B.E.L," he intoned, casting his gaze across the flickering eyes of his fellows, as if searching each shining pool of color for deception or deceit, "Our first order of business is to locate Turnip's whereabouts. Although the Duke claims he is ill—yes Jerome, what is it?"

"Er, sorry to interrupt," the young sandy-haired page piped up, "but I think I missed something. Were we supposed to bring vegetables to this meeting? Because no one told me anything about any turnips! I might have some wilting carrots back in my room somewhere, I was saving them for my horse but if you need them for our cause…"

"No Jerome," Raoul explained patiently, "Turnip is a code name for—" his voice abruptly dropped to a barely audible whisper "—_you-know-who_, the man we're attempting to rescue! In case we need to discuss R.E.B.E.L. business outside these walls, we need to be able to communicate in secret. Hence, the top secret codename, Turnip. All right? Now, if I may continue—_what_, Lady Ameetha?"

"Why is the codename 'Turnip'?" asked the noble girl, crinkling her nose, "I mean there are so many nicer vegetables to name him, such as Tomato. Everyone likes the taste of tomatoes, but I haven't heard of anyone who likes to eat Turnips!"

Raoul let out a strangled utterance of exasperation, interrupting the pouting girl. "First of all, a tomato is a _fruit_, not a vegetable, and secondly, people's vegetable preferences are hardly relevant seeing as we're not actually going to _eat_ the man in question! It's just a codename I've devised and we're not changing it! Now, if we may _finally _continue, our first order of business—_what _Stephan? And for the love of Mithros this better not be about codenames or vegetables, I swear—"

The normally shy hostler shook his head, a slight blush creeping over his lined but gentle features as he opened his mouth to speak in front of the crowd. He was a horse person, not a people person, and disliked public speaking almost as much as Squire Alan reportedly disliked dancing with noble ladies. "Pardon th' interruption Sir—"

"In here you may call me Comrade," Raoul interrupted, nodding for the hostler to continue.

"—er, pardon me then Comrade, but I 'ave word from th' Rogue himself that'd he'd like to partake in our noble efforts like, if it pleases ye that is."

"George!" Raoul cried, his brown eyes lighting up brightly, "Gods I had forgotten about him…but of course he must know what's going on, his messenger pigeons would have seen to that. Good heavens we could use his help, although of course he can't physically attend meetings, but yes Stephan, please tell him he if officially a member of R.E.B.E.L."

The rest of the followers looked thoroughly confused, but Raoul didn't bother to explain. When questioned by an overly curious Lady Ameetha , Raoul simply brushed off the matter and claimed George was "just an old friend of Gary's, wanting to do his bit." She bought the explanation readily, and returned to her day dreams of Sir Gary's extremely broad and muscular shoulders…

Of course, Sir Alex had not been so easily dismissed. Although he didn't press the matter after one initial inquiry, as that would appear far too suspicious, he did tuck away the knowledge that the Raoul and Gary were on intimate terms with the King of Thieves, aka: the Rogue himself. Doubtless Duke Roger would find this knowledge invaluable…

"Now our first order of business is to find a way to get and receive messages from Turnip. Duke Roger claims he's ill, but of course, we suspect otherwise. No visitors are allowed to enter his rooms, save the Duke's particular healers, not even Gary's own parents! Obviously, this is a cover up, and Turnip is being held against his will…"

The meeting continued long into the wee hours of the night, with little accomplishments to show for it other than the development of a glaring enmity between the Lady Ameetha and the cook's assistant Minnie, both of whom seemed to lay claim to Gary's tender heart. Nonetheless, Raoul and Miles were cheered by the small turnout, and pleased to finally be taking action as opposed to sitting around doing nothing. Action was always better than helplessness. Tomorrow Raoul planned to ride to the city to discuss matters with George, and Myles wanted to track down and question the healers allowed to enter Gary's room and see if one of them could be bribed to pass messages along to him. Gold often spoke stronger than keys or rules.

R.E.B.E.L. was officially underway.

* * *

**_Carthak:_**

_He was gone in an instant, vanished into thin air like a puff of smoke. That last she saw of her prince was a flash of silver from his glass slipper, before he disappeared into the darkness for good._

Alanna had to pinch herself to make sure she wasn't dreaming. Finally, her Prince had returned to her, if only for a few minutes…she had seen him, touched him. Embraced him. The moment had been painfully blissful, until they were so cruelly separated, yet again.

Alanna felt dazed, as if she had dreamed the whole reunion only in her mind. Yet before she could get her bearings again, Lord Oppenheimer came waltzing through the garden, a bulging box tucked in the crook of his arm and a gleeful smile lingering on his face.

"Ah, there you are my little snuggle bunny, I'm glad to see you've calmed down some!" He chirped, waving his hand in one quick fluid motion to remove the cumbersome slave anklet.

"Huh?" Alanna replied numbly, still reeling from Jon's sudden appearance—and just as sudden disappearance. "Oh, right, yeah…" she mumbled sourly, her voice dripping with irony, "that cherub really helped…"

"I knew it would, all girls love silly things like that." Lord Oppenheimer beamed, missing the sarcasm. "Hmm, that's odd, do you smell a faint burning scent in the air?" He added, turning his nose to sniff curiously around him.

"Er, not at all!" Alanna squeaked in reply, "Brr it's chilly out here, shall we go back inside?"

"Excellent idea darling," Lord Oppenheimer smiled down benevolently at her, "it's time for the unfurling of my greatest creation!"

He tucked his free arm around her waist and led her to the pleasant warmth of the ballroom. Alanna glanced back once over her shoulder, but the grey night revealed nothing of her Prince. There was only darkness.

Inside, the ball was still buzzing. The promenade had ended long ago, and most nobles had returned to their tables for a scrumptious seven course meal. The guests were just tucking into their spinach pastry appetizers, when Lord Oppenheimer strode confidently across the center of the room towards the Emperor's royal throne, his short red-haired slave in tow.

All eyes turned towards the mage; rumors had been circulating for weeks about his mysterious "gift" to the Emperor. As the mage approached the dais, the Emperor put down his spoon and an expectant hush settled over the room like a cloak.

"My most noble Emperor," Lord Oppenheimer began demurely, dipping into the deepest of bows. A fierce tug on the hem of Alanna's sleeve reminded her she should show her respect as well, so she awkwardly dipped into a fragile warbling curtsey that at best could be described as "somewhat adequate."

"I would like to present to you the fruit of my creation, the jewel of my mage's work, the crown of my lifetime—The Gadget!" He whipped out his invention with a flourish as an audible gasp of wonderment swept throughout the room in a wave. Curiosity soon followed…what was this strange device exactly? It looked like a rather large glass sphere, instead of which dashed fierce bolts of lighting in dazzling flashes of color. The sparks danced across the walls chaotically, lending a dim but pulsating aura of neon bright color

"I thank you for your gift," the Emperor said stiffly, as custom required. "But what is it?" He added, his aroused curiosity more persuasive than mere social etiquette.

"It is the manifestation of the legendary _Mage's Ball_, a device so powerful, the likes of it have never been seen on Earth since the great gods themselves deemed to allow humankind to harness such awesome power, some countless centuries ago. Within this one tiny sphere contains enough force to move mountains, to sweep seas across land, to make forests spring from grassy knolls. By tapping into this virtually unlimited pool of magic, healers can stay alert for hours on end in the battlefield, never running the risk of over exerting themselves again. Indeed, Emperor, if I may be so bold, I would exert that this invention will change the face of healing magic and warfare forever!"

The crowd looked positively dumbstruck, but a wave of gleeful delight stole rapidly across the Emperor's features. He looked practically demonic as he reached out his hands and grabbed the glass ball, now a vibrant fiery red. Crimson shadows of lighting bols flashed across his face as he held the thing, every inch of the man trembling with anticipation and ecstasy.

"You have done me a great service, mage!" The Emperor roared happily, "for this wonderful creation you bring me, I shall award you with anything you want, within limits of course. But gold, jewels, land, what is your desire?"

Lord Oppenheimer shook his head bashfully. He knew the Emperor would be overjoyed with gratitude, but he wasn't used to standing so obvious in the spotlight.

"Well…" Lord Oppenheimer began demurely, bringing the speech he had prepared for months to the forefront of his mind. Finally, he would get his heart's wish! Oh, this day was gloriously golden indeed! "All would really like in this world is a high-ranking teaching post at the University, so I have some means of supporting myself in all my future endeavors."

"Done!" The Emperor snapped, his booming voice echoing throughout the hall, "I dub thee University Headmaster!"

A spindly man the very picture of prim and proper decorum—presumably, the previous University Headmaster—squawked with outrage and tumbled out his chair onto the floor, but few paid him little heed.

"And, for asking such a modest request, I shall also give you 10,000 gold nobles, so you need never worry about 'supporting your future endeavors,' as you say!"

Lord Oppenheimer looked wide-eyed, but secretly pleased. He had thought to ask for a bit of gold, but didn't want to seem too presumptuous…now however, it appeared he'd get the money anyway, and really could begin his future endeavors after all!

"You are most generous," Lord Oppenheimer cried gratefully, tearing up in the eyes a bit, "in which case I'd like to announce my future endeavors to the world, if it pleases you, my Emperor?"

The man waved a disinterested hand of approval; having granted the mage's request, he had now turned eagerly to the glowing sphere of power in his hand…by the Hag, it was beautiful…

"With the money the Emperor has so munificently bestowed upon me, I would like to announce a party that you are all invited to—"

The crowd interrupted him with a hearty cheer of approval. Nobles loved a good party, especially an extravagant one that would cost hundreds if not thousands of gold nobles. That pretty much guarenteed the food would be good.

Lord Oppenheimer blushed, but charged onwards with his announcement, only pausing briefly to wave humbly around him, before declaring happily, "a party to celebrate my betrothal to the beautiful Lady Alanna!"

**…****Saphron…**

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_A/N_: Bit of a cliffy, no? Tehe. Big hugs to all!


	38. Chapter 38 Every Woman'sWorst Nightmare

**Homeward Bound: An Alternate Version of In the Hand of the Goddess**

**By Saphron**

_A/N: _Thanks for the concerns kiddies, but don't worry, I'm not sick or dead, just busy. College is hard! Anyway, I apologize profoundly for the delay…but better late than never, right? I'm sorry but all future installments are probably going to take some time. If that's too frustrating, I understand completely if you chose to no longer read this story. But I hope you decide to stick with it anyway, and be patient, patient, patient…and thank you, once again, for the lovely reviews. You guys are too much, my head is going to grow to be the size of a pumpkin, lol.

**Warning:** This chapter deals with some serious violent adult content. Reader discretion is advised.

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**Chapter 38 – Every Woman's Worst Nightmare**

_Carthak:_

"Now where in the hell is that damn knight stature?" Jon muttered to himself, searching eagerly around him in confusion. "She said east wing, fourth floor, up the stairs and to the left, right? Or wait, was it north end, sixth floor, behind a potted plant? Oh curses, why can't I remember! Gah!"

The Prince of Tortall stalked off, oblivious to the strange stares of passing nobles, lost as a traveler without a map. He had thought about asking directions, but his manly pride wouldn't let him. He'd prefer to find the way on his own, even if it took twice as long.

It was going to be a long night.

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"What the _hell_ is wrong with you?" Alanna seethed, scampering to keep pace with her long-limbed slave master. Why in Mithros name was she born so gods cursed short!

"We'll talk about this in our rooms," he hissed barely above a whisper, motioning for her to keep her voice down.

"I will NOT be quiet!" Alanna hollered, stamping her foot angrily, "How _dare_ you just _assume_—"

Lord Oppenheimer twirled on the spot, shooting her a dark look with stormy gray eyes. "You will choose of your own accord to cease this racket, or I will do it for you," he murmured frostily, raising a softly glowing hand. It was apparent that one more word out of Alanna's mouth would have earned her a quick silencing spell and then some.

The two were walking through the west wing of Emperor's palace, having left the ballroom mere minutes before. Lord Oppenheimer's little announcement had been met with hearty applause and a chorus of cheers, but even through the loud din Alanna made herself heard in her slave master's ear. And what he heard he did not like.

In order to deter her from making a scene in the ballroom that would attract obvious attention, he had quickly made his excuses and scurried out of the room, his red-haired slave girl in tow. Now the two were approaching their rooms in the palace, for what promised to be a long night of disagreement.

"Now then," Lord Oppenheimer began, shutting the door to his bedroom with an audible snap, "_why_ in the Hag's name are you so upset? Most girls would be thrilled to have the Emperor's University Headmaster propose to them!"

"That's the thing!" Alanna cried in response, "you _didn't_ propose, you-you just told the entire court—without even _asking_—I mean, it's just, it's just—"

"I didn't take you to be the kind of girl who reveled in all that maidenly slyness, but if you insist…" Lord Oppenheimer sighed wearily, bending down on one knee. "Will you, dear Alanna, jewel of my life, take me to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

Alanna tried to keep from choking; the sight of her slave master on bended knee was just too surreal. She took a deep breath to calm her temper, and replied, "I'm sorry, I can't accept your proposal."

"Why not?" Lord Oppenheimer countered shrewdly, "you're a poor simple slave girl, I'm one of the richest nobles in the land. I could raise you to the status of gentle lady, lest you prefer to scrub pots and pans for the rest of your days…is such a fate really preferable to being my wife?" His voice dropped to a deep, soft murmur, "let me take care of you Alanna, let me buy you beautiful things and build you a beautiful house. You'd be the envy of every woman in Carthak. Let me love you Alanna…marry me. Just marry me."

Alanan trembled, completely overwhelmed by the adoring, almost fanatical, look in his eyes. George had made her feel this way once long ago, but then it was gentle, kind, soft. Lord Oppenheimer was relentlessly obsessive in his adulation. She could handle full grown knights and wild beasts, but this? This she was terrified of.

She closed her eyes, the better to protect herself from his piercing gaze. She steeled herself and said gently, "I'm sorry, but I don't love you. I never have and—I never will. The answer is still no."

Suddenly Lord Oppenheimer's eyes flashed dangerously, as he rose slowly to his feet. A dark rage swirled inside him, every molecule of his being churned with anger. He had spent years living in painful solitude, trying to forget the girl that broken his tender young heart nearly a decade ago. Oh how he had loved her, cherished her, worshiped her! But ultimately she had betrayed him, flittered away with an impish laugh, leaving him broken-hearted and shattered. He had completely lost his ability to ever love or trust a woman again…until Alanna had arrived on his doorstep one fateful sunny morn.

He hadn't planned to fall in love with her, all he had wanted was a gifted slave to help him complete his master project, but after weeks in her company, weeks of her sardonic sense of humor making him chuckle in delight, weeks of her feisty, adventurous spirit, weeks of gazing into her gorgeous violet eyes, he had fallen for her, deeply and completely. But to be rejected once again, scorned by the girl he had offered everything to…that he could not handle. A blind rage overcame him, maddening his senses, as he did the unthinkable and raised his fists in anger. It seemed he was more beast than man.

Thanks to six long years of knight training, Alanna saw the blow in time to attempt to duck away. But she wasn't quite fast enough in her heavy skirts; his hand made contact with her face, what would have been a solid punch simply grazing harshly against her cheek. She leapt back with wounded eyes—how could one who claimed to love her turn on her so quickly? How could he threaten to beat her? She had handled the same treatment from countless scores of bullies, but always then it had been a fair fight between consenting duelers, not some angry man who dared presume he had the right to treat a woman who displeased him in such a brutal, violent manor.

Lord Oppenheimer swung again, roaring in fury like a wounded animal. Alanna leapt back, stumbling awkwardly in her high heels. What she wouldn't give to be wearing her simple squire's uniform, Lightning tucked comfortingly by her side!

With one forceful move he grabbed her by the shoulders and threw her with all his force onto the bed. An audible gasp escape her lips despite the softened cushioning of the blanketed mattress. She scrambled to curl into a ball as he yanked her to his chest and shoved his tongue roughly down her throat. She gagged, clawing at him with tooth and nail to escape his iron clutches, but he was seemingly immune to the pain. He twisted her under him tighter, his hands working like mad to untie her laces, and inwardly she panicked.

She had never had to deal with a situation like this before.

For years she had hidden her true sex; disguised as a boy, she never had to worry about the ravaging nature of certain wicked men. She had first gotten a taste of the lingering barbarism of the so-called civilized human race when her gender had been revealed during her unceremonious dip in the river Drell a few months ago by the slave traders who had captured her. But although the experience of being objectified and humiliated had left a bitter taste in her mouth, she had survived no worse for the wear. Lord Penikth had thankfully never noticed her, and entrapped as she was in her old slave master's house, no other Carthaki man had either. Even the pitiful attempts of Chartres the royal greeter were nothing in comparison. She had handled him swiftly and effectively, barely pausing to punish him thoroughly without so much as a tremor of concern.

But this was something else entirely. This was terrifying.

Despite his gangly stature and untrained muscles, Lord Oppenheimer was a relatively strong man. Years of dedicated magery dealing with powerful spells that often stung the hands of those who dared wield them had carved his body into a iron frame of high pain tolerance. But his real strength lay in the blind fury that enveloped him, for despite Alanna's many defensive blows, he remained stalwartly unaffected.

And when Alanna attempted to use the remains of her gift, Lord Oppenheimer countered with ten times the force. Although she was feisty and physically fit, his magic made her feel as if she was wading through a thick pool of molasses. He was one of the country's most powerful mages…she was an untrained sixteen year old girl with a bit of healing magic. She felt languid and exhausted, and could barely move her arms to defend herself. It was not a question of heart, for Alanna had that in plenty. In this situation she was simply outmatched.

Her bodice barely hanging on by a stitch, her skirts ripped to shreds, her very heart pounding with horrified panic, Alanna was losing the battle, and losing badly. She was living every woman's greatest nightmare. She was living a rape.

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"Ah-ha, _there's_ the knight statue!" Jon cried triumphantly, a wide grin breaking out on his face. See! Who needed to ask directions anyway? He had found the place…eventually. 

Suddenly Jon's ears perked up as he heard a faint cry from the other side of the door. He approached quietly and listened in at the keyhole, curious about the strange sound. What he heard he did not like, not one bit. It sounded like Alanna crying out…

Jon tried the door handle, but it was locked tight. He cursed and rattled it angrily, but that did little to help the situation. He had to hurry, Alanna was in trouble!

Jon's eyes narrowed sharply as he reached deep inside himself. He Gift was nearly exhausted from his attempts to break Alanna's cursed slave anklet, but still he managed to pull out a pulsating blue strand of magic. It was glowing weakly, but hopefully it would be enough. He didn't have time to try one of George's lock picking tricks.

The magic thankfully did the trick. The door swung open with an angry bang, revealing the crazed lord bent over the terrified Alanna. He had her wrists pinned above her head with one hand while the other tore at the shredded remains of her once dazzling dress. Jon seized up the situation in a second. He could barely believe his eyes. Could this awful thing really be happening?

Alanna's petrified eyes met his above the shoulder of her slave master; for one brief moment hope overcame her, before the darkness swirled above her again. She fought the urge to breathe properly and stay conscious, clinging to the fact that her Prince had found her once again.

Jon quickly pulled Lightning's scabbard from beneath his skirts, but realized with a shock that it was too dangerous to charge ahead with the blade unsheathed. If he missed by an inch, or the man moved, or the bed broke, he could accidentally end up stabbing Alanna instead. He made a split decision and tossed the sword aside; it landed with a dull metal clatter in a tall potted plant in the corner of the room.

Jon threw himself with all his might at Lord Oppenheimer, knocking him away from the bed and against a wall. A wild punch missed the mage by an inch, shattering a glass window beside him. Jon hissed in pain as his knuckles rapped sharply against the glass shards, as blood gushed in tiny rivulets down his wrist. The Carthaki man looked dazed for a moment, but soon recovered and threw an angry punch of his own. Thankfully the untrained lord had no idea how to really fight properly, and the full grown Tortallan knight was able to duck archly out of harm's way and counter with a swift kick to the man's stomach, causing him to clutch his sides and bend over double in pain.

Jon ran to the bed and pulled Alanna to his chest, screaming her name to call her back from the dark abyss she was floating in. Colorful lights swirled above her head and a man's voice sounded far away to her ears. _How pretty_, Alanna thought dazedly to herself, as the rainbow danced before her eyes, _how pretty are those wonderful blue pools above, they look like tiny little sapphires_…

With his back turned, Jon failed to see the mage leap to his feet and wrap his arm around his throat, but he felt the familiar tug of oxygen deprivation and let go of Alanna to defend himself. Lord Oppenheimer squeezed harder, tightening his grasp on Jon's windpipe, and for a second black spots danced before his eyes. A knight's training, which delt with the noble sports of fencing, jousting, swordplay and archery, did not handle such raw tooth and nail hand to hand combat…but a King of Thieves' training most certainly did. Later Jon would thank every god he knew for delivering George to him as a friend, but now he used the move the older man had taught him to twist away from the mage's grasp and tuck a neatly placed foot behind his ankle, tripping him effectively.

Unfortunately, Jon went down with the Carthaki lord, the two were so entwined together. They wrestled on the carpeted rug, each man fighting for dear life, one instant Jon victoriously on top, the next pinned in crushing defeat to the ground. Finally he managed to kick himself free and stumble to a corner of the room clutching his aching ribs and gasping for breathe. He began choking, his lungs screaming for oxygen, and fell to his knees winded and breathless.

Lord Oppenheimer looked just as bad, if not worse. Both his eyes were blackened and lip was bloodied, but with the last ounce of his strength he surged to his feet and raised his arms high above his head. Black thunder clouds dappled with little specs of lightening began to form and swirl around the ceiling forebodingly. The mage's hands glowed a frightful green, and the air grew decidedly chilly. Frost formed on the glassy shards of the broken window, and Jon's ragged breath came out in visible puffs of cold smoke. He coughed and glanced through sweat-matted hair at the mage. Power ripped through his body as he called on the Hag to help him. Jon knew surely that the strongest mage in the world couldn't channel this much magic without dire repercussions, but it seemed the made did not care about the dangers.

A large fiery ball of magic whirled above his raised arms, and suddenly Jon knew his time had come. He did not have the magical strength left necessarily to ward off such a potent attack. If the spell hit him, he would be killed.

The Carthaki mage laughed maniacally as pain seared his every nerve. Oh, to wield such frightful power! The joy and dream of every mage alive! He turned his cold steel eyes to the handsome young man, and smirked satisfactorily to himself. This fool was obviously Alanna's lover, to have rushed into the room and cried her name so fearfully. No wonder the girl had refused him…she had been entrapped by this unworthy boy-child before him. But once he was out of the way, Alanna would be all his! She would marry him and they'd live happily ever after! She'd belong to him and only him!

With one last angry cry, Lord Oppeneheimer hurled the fire ball at the fallen knight. Jon's first reaction was to close his eyes, but eh fought the urge. If he was going to die, then he'd die like a man, facing death head on. He took a deep breath and prepared to meet the Black God.

But the blow never came. For a minute Jon was confused, had he died or not? When the dust in the room settled, Lord Oppenheimer was standing frozen in shock, deathly pale in complexion and twitching uncontrollably. Jon was completely unscathed…but Alanna was lying prone motionless on the floor.

She had done her squire's duty, and leapt bravely in front of the fireball to save her knight master's life.

**…****Saphron…**

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_A/N:_ WOO, that was intense wasn't it? Gosh, my heart was pounding the whole time I was writing that, and Mithros, I'm the author! I hope you guys found that as exciting as I did…and don't mind the cliffhanger _too_ much…

Peace out, lovelies.


	39. Chapter 39 The Sprint Across the Snow

**Homeward Bound: An Alternate Version of In the Hand of the Goddess**

**By Saphron**

_A/N_: Hahaha wow, that was some great "NOOO HOW COULD YOU?-!-?-!-? EVIL CLIFFIE! DIE DIE!"-ness, LOL. I loved it:-D But just to be clear, **Alanna didn't actually get raped**—it was an attempted rape only. I'm sorry if that wasn't plain. If she had _actually_ been physically raped (ie: the rape had been completed) then I would have mentioned that. I love Alanna too much to see something so dire happen to her…though she'll still be pretty pissed/traumatized by the whole thing anyway.

Secondly, I know it seems like Lord Oppenheimer's character changed rather dramatically, and to some extent it actually did. But if you read carefully, I set him up to be _ver_yeccentric, weird, socially awkward, etc., and not that hermits are necessarily insane…but they typically don't have the best people skills. I also set up his mentality to be very self-centered and egotistical, where he erroneously believes the world revolves around him. If you've ever taken a psych class, you'd know that people with narcissistic disorders irrationally get extremely angry when things don't go their way. Hence…violence. Also you'll remember that he whole heartedly supports slavery…translation: he has no appreciation for the intrinsic human right to life. And as you'll later find out post mortem, this wasn't his first act of violence…but anyway, I'm sorry if it seemed I turned him from an awkward but likable enough guy to a raging maniac too quickly, but I wanted to get on with the action all ready…the other option was the drag out the engagement for weeks with Jon pining away, etc, but I think you guys are eager to get to some serious A/J fluff. Lol, you're right Mercury-Shadowfeather, it was a _tad_ "out of nowhere," but I needed to off Lord O. to move on to the next part of the adventure, a part where Alanna is not enslaved…

Thirdly, Alanna not only couldn't move well because of her heavy skirts, but **mainly because of the molasses spell** he put on her, which he never put on Jon because Jon surprised him before he could do it. Remember, that little spell that made it so Alanna's limbs couldn't move properly? That was a reference to the date rape drug Roofies. Ladies, be careful out there clubbing and bar hopping and partying, a guy (or theoretically a gal but um, probably more likely a guy) could slip a pill in your drink (your non alcoholic soda drink, of course because I doubt many of you are of age…) when you're not looking that's odorless, colorless, and tasteless, and basically turns you into a limp soggy rag. Than he takes you home and…you can fill in the rest. So lesson learned? NEVER PUT DOWN YOUR DRINK AND LEAVE IT UNATTENDED. If you put it down, go to the bathroom, and then come back—get a new drink! Oh, also, another reason Jon was able to fight when Alanna couldn't was because Alanan was in shock. She has _never_ experienced anything _remotely_ like this before and ti can be very traumatizing for a woman. Jon, who is a man, was not in shock. Also, Alanna DID fight back, but Lord O. was simply immune to her punches. And in addition, most of Jon's cumbersome dresses were torn off during the fight. So ok, I think I'm justified myself enough on this point, lol…

Now on with the freakin' show! Oh and by the way, **PLEASE READ ALL THE WAY TO THE END before you go flaming**, thank you.

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**Chapter 39 – The Sprint Across the Snow**

_Last time, on Homeward Bound:_

_With one last angry cry, Lord Oppenheimer hurled the fire ball at the fallen knight. Jon's first reaction was to close his eyes, but he fought the urge. If he was going to die, then he'd die like a man, facing death head on. He took a deep breath and prepared to meet the Black God._

_But the blow never came. For a minute Jon was confused, had he died or not? When the dust in the room settled, Lord Oppenheimer was standing frozen in shock, deathly pale in complexion and twitching uncontrollably. Jon was completely unscathed…but Alanna was lying prone motionless on the floor._

_She had done her squire's duty, and leapt bravely in front of the fireball to save her knight master's life._

­

"_Alanna, oh gods…Alanna!_" Jon was crying silently. The words were screaming, a violent all-consuming echo in his mind, but they did not burst past his numb lips. He was not aware that he was not calling to her aloud; all he knew was a sharp, blinding stab of thundering pain in his chest. All he knew was that Alanna was dead.

Without even really thinking, but simply acting on pure animalistic wrath, he laid her silky red-haired head down, gently, and reached behind him for Lightning's hilt. Strong fingers wrapped tightly along the smooth worn grooves of the blade's leather. The sword sang a slick silvery song of yearning as she was unfurled from her bindings. Cold metal glinted expectantly, casting a slender line of dark shadow painted on the walls. A feral roar accompanied the sword's war cry, as Jon sprang breathlessly to his feet.

Lord Oppenheimer looked faintly surprised as he glanced down at the cold-blooded sword buried deep into his tender stomach. A sinuous trickle of blood seeped down his ashen cheeks and plunged in a graceful waterfall to a puddle pooled on the plush crimson carpet. Sweat beaded on his forward appeared frozen in time like tiny little diamonds reflecting the scarlet world around him. Jon's hand twisted one last fateful time, carving through the sludge of entrails as if to eradicate every last ounce of wholeness, and the once powerful mage fell to his knees, never to rise again.

He was dead. Jon had sent him to the Black God for judgment. The mortal life was over; the soul was in the Great Beyond.

Lightening slid out of the fallen mage's chest as if it were butter. Jon vaguely registered astonishment at the ease in which the sword freed herself, but then, the blade had never exactly been ordinary. He wiped her clean quickly on the carpet, grimacing at the thought of touching either the dead man's shirt or the bed's soiled sheets. Both represented something evil and sinister, that he dared not touch.

He used the blade once more to cut himself free of his remaining cumbersome clothes (most of which had been torn off during his struggle with the Lord), until he was left shirtless, wearing only a pair of soft tan breeches in questionable condition. He looked like a wild beast with his jet black hair madly astray and the bulges of his muscled arms pouring sweat and covered in splashes of wine-red blood. He grimly sheathed Lightening and tucked her in a knotted cord of his belt. The blade whistled contently as she returned home to her warm leather pouch; Jon wished he had such luxury.

He kicked the remaining shards of glass from the broken window pane, and peered outside at the cold gloomy snow on the ground. He was high up, too high to jump, and this time he couldn't escape a room by climbing onto the roof. Maybe he could have scaled down the wall by himself, but he didn't pause two seconds to entertain the notion. He would never balk on his knightly duty, and leave his squire's body behind without proper burial.

Returning to the crumpled mass of torn lilac fabric, he scooped up his fragile little squire and secured his grip around her tightly. Jon emerged from Lord Oppenheimer's chambers half-naked, covered in blood, with a crazed look in his eye—and ran for all he was worth.

A shocked serving maid busy flirting with a lecherous doorman squawked in surprise as a wild animal tore down the halls, running as if the very hounds of hell were after him. She only saw his face long enough to register a pair of deep sapphire blue eyes before he disappeared down the hallway like a ghost.

The two witnesses would later spend hours recounting their run-in with the "Phantom Man," as he was quickly christened, to a wide-eyed captive audience. They would even be called before the Emperor to recount the tale, as no other person laid eyes on the Prince that night. The nobles were still dancing away in the palace ballroom, and the servants were still serving them their wine and bread. Only one rogue chambermaid and her doorman lover had the fortune—or curse—of bearing witness to the scene.

Jon's pounding feet left a soft trail of footprints in the freshly fallen Midwinter snow, but he didn't have time to clear them away. He simply prayed the elements destroyed them on their own, as he dodged past the palace guards, both very drunk and very bitter. They were angry that they couldn't attend the ball, and spent the night comforting themselves in drink. Since they were only expecting people to try and get _in_ to the palace, not _out_ of it, they were caught completely unaware when a wild bull charged through the gates and leaped down the steps and spun around the corner.

Jon weaved his way through the cobbled streets of the Lower City, immune to the shocked gaps that followed in his wake from the few late night patrons brave or stupid enough to face the bitter wintry elements. He didn't even feel the chilling tingle of snow as it dripped down his back and hissed into slender towers of steam, or cruelly curled around his frost-bitten toes. He had one goal in mind, and one goal only: make it the Sandlot Inn.

When he arrived at the inn's doorstep ragged for breath, covered in blood, and clutching a dead girl in his arms, Saraiya didn't even ask any questions. Jon simply looked at her with pleading in his eyes, and it was enough.

Rascal stepped forward. He had a noticeable bruise on the left side of his face and a patch over one eye, but overall still held the same cheerful countenance. But even the thief court's most lively jester was subdued tonight in the face of the obvious death.

The thief took Alanna's body in his arms, relieving him of the burden, for slender as her frame was, Jon had been running for a good two miles, and no longer had the breath to even remain standing. He collapsed heavily to the floor, too tired to make it to a chair or couch, and Saraiya had to order five of her men to carry him upstairs to bed. The girl she instructed Rascal to address; he did so tenderly, setting her gently down on a soft pile of blankets.

The Lady Chief attended to the Prince herself, and dressed his wounds and healed him while he slept. She was a gifted healer, but still she worried for his life. She waited by his bedside the entire night, ever vigilant for the slightest flicker of life, hoping and praying the color would return to his cheeks. She didn't like his deathly pallor, not one bit… Mithros, what was he thinking running half naked through a snowy city at night? And the girl…the poor girl. It must have been that lover of his, the amazing woman fighting for her shield in a man's world. What a tragedy, to die so young, with her life so unfulfilled, when she had such daring dreams…

As eager as she was for Jonathan to wake up, Saraiya shuddered at the thought of his reaction to the girl's death. Surely he'd be distraught; she might have to order some of her men to restrain him from flying into a blind rage and hurting himself, or others.

The Lady Chief couldn't even comfort herself that perhaps now Jonathan would be free to take another woman as his lover. She knew he'd need time to get over this one, lots of time, and besides, they were destined to remain friends, and good ones at that.

But the poor girl. The poor, poor girl…

A soft knock interrupted her cheerless thoughts. She scowled irately; who was daring to disturb her peace? If it was some obnoxious drunkard or some mundane bureaucratic question those stupid idiot men couldn't answer without her, she swore heads would roll…

""Scuse me Chief," Rascal mumbled humbly, bowing his head upon entering, "sorry ter interrupt ye, I know ye didna want ter be disturbed, but—"

"That's right," Saraiya barked, but quietly, so she wouldn't wake Jon, "I _don't_ want ter be bothered, so go away!"

Rascal coughed and shifted his weight uncomfortably. "Er, I will, don' kill th' messenger! But I just thought ye'd like ter know that that little girl yer friend brought in probably needs to see a healer, I can't really do 'er justice wit' just me pitiful knowledge o' bone-settin' an' whatnot—"

"Mithros boy, how hard did yer mum drop ye on yer head to get ye that stupid?" The Lady Chief growled, unusually curt. She normally didn't speak to her men this way, as she knew respect grew better from love than fear, but it was nearly four in the morning and she was exhausted, and did not have time for idiot blather. "Can't yet see th' girlain't alive no more? Dead bodies don' need healers boy."

"Well…dead bodies don' usually 'ave no heartbeat either, do they?" Rascal quipped, quirking an eyebrow.

Saraiya's tired eyes shot open. "Y'mean, are you saying, she's not—"

"Nope," Rascal grinned. "Although like I said before, I _really_ think she should be seen by a healer—ouch! Oh, sure, fine, just bowl me right over as ye go flying out th' door, don' pay no mind to me really, not like I was th' one who figured out she was still kickin' 'n all, despite me bad eye even I could see it, unlike ye sorry lot…gah, I'm just talkin' to meself now, aren't I?"

The lone desk chair didn't bother to reply.

* * *

The spell should have killed her—but it didn't. 

By all magical laws of nature, she should have died. The fireball was forged by one of the most powerful mage's in the world. The sphere was composed of pure hatred and evil intent. It was the very essence of Death itself.

Alanna would never know precisely what saved her that day. She would later—when she was conscious—spend hours puzzling over it. A multitude of thoughts, each less satisfactory than the next, would fly through her head. It might have been, ironically, she thought, the lingering effects of Lord Oppenheimer's magical slave anklet burned into her skin that turned his own magic against him. It might have been her own latent Gift subconsciously defending her. It might have been the little golden four leaf clover charm Binney had given her for protection, albeit a different sort of protection. It might have been Jon holding her, pouring his strength into her. It might have been something else, something she'd never know.

For the Goddess had been very careful not to reveal her hand in saving Alanna's life. She knew how much her Chosen One feared the divine, and detested even more the notion of being weak enough to require saving.

She had already revealed Herself to her mortal maiden once. She had said what she had wanted to say then—about being wary of Roger, trusting her strength to survive the Chamber of Secrets, and learning to love the men in her life who loved her—now was not the time to repeat her words again. The Goddess simply stepped in, drew a gentle, invisible silver curtain of protection around her Chosen One, and floated away with none the wiser. All Alanna would remember of the incident was a silver light that tingled in her heart like the memory of the inside of the first born star, nothing more.

And she wouldn't remember that until she awoke, which Jon feared would be never…

…**Saphron…**

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_A/N: _So originally the first line of the chapter was "The spell should have killed her—but it didn't." But then I thought it'd be fun to keep you all in suspense and let you think she died! Good idea, no? –ducks random flying objects- I know, don't you all just love me THIS much!


	40. Chapter 40 Carthak's Most Wanted

**Homeward Bound: An Alternate Version of In the Hand of the Goddess**

**By Saphron**

_A/N_: Hehe you guys are too smart for Old Saphy :P y'all knew I wouldn't actually kill our brave-hearted heroine off…though I suppose that was pretty obvious, lol, but still, kudos to all :-D

Also, let me just say, you guys inspire me so freakin' much. I'm inherently a rather lazy person (shameful but true), and I have a tendency to drag my feet when it comes to actually sitting down and writing a polished chapter. **But then I read your "I love it!" reviews and I get straight to work**. I'm not trying to shamelessly wheedle for more reviews, because you guys are all ready fabulous in that department (over 540! I think this is the 4th or 5th most reviewed fic in the entire fandom, though I could be wrong about that. I think for the record I need upwards of 1154, lol. Doubtful, but hey, that'd be **pretty freakin' cool to rule the TP fandom**! –don't mind my delusions of grandeur, lol-) I'm just saying…the system works. Hence, the creation of this next chapter…inspired by you guys…and oh, **sorry for the slower pace of updates**! So busy! Midterm tomorrow! Erlack! You guys aren't selfish lol (Miss Me and a Half reviewer) it's understandable to find it frustrating. I'm trying though, and your reviews definitely help :)

_PS_: Someone (the fabulous reviewer Alex Rose) said the sprint across the snow was Heathcliff-like which I believe is a reference to um…some really famous old time romance novel I can't remember right now, with moors and stuff, what's the name again? (Er, obviously I never read it, I know, t'is shameful considering I'm an English major.) But I'll take it as a compliment!

_PS_ _again_: GIANT SHOUTOUT TO THE WONDERFUL **REVIEWER REBECCA** (who doesn't have a penname, so I can't contact her via review reply) because she gave me some truly helpful constructive criticism. I don't know if I can follow it all, but I can certainly try. Aww gosh, how I love all my reviewers!

Gosh my _A/N'_s are long. Oy, sorry. Continue please.

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**Chapter 40 – Carthak's Most Wanted (dun dun dun)**

_"Bad boys, bad boys   
Whatcha gonna do, whatcha gonna do  
When they come for you..."_

- "Bad Boy" (theme from the TV show COPS) by Inner Circle

_

* * *

Tortall:_

"Listen George, I have a favor to ask of you…actually, R.E.B.E.L. has a favor to ask of you." Raoul began, worrying his lip subconsciously. He was sitting in one of George's plushest silk chairs with a glass of expensive red wine in his hand, but he could hardly enjoy his comfortable surroundings in light of the fact that his best friend was still imprisoned in his bedroom, a mad duke had stolen the throne, and the heir to the realm and his squire were still completely AWOL. How was a knight supposed to relax under conditions like this?

"Anything lad, y'know ye just 'ave ter ask," The Rogue replied, sipping his wine slowly. That was George, ever calm, ever poised. It took a lot to ruffle his feathers.

"Well, Duke Roger won't let anyone near Gary's door, and the only other opening to his room is through a window. I thought about scaling the wall, but it's five stories up and far too dangerous, not to mention physically impossible. Which is why, I was thinking…who knows more about breaking and entering than the King of the Thieves? And then it hit me, we could use your messenger birds! I mean, with your permission of course, but they could reach the window, unlike a normal man!"

George smoothed his chin, clearly contemplating the possibility. "Good idea Raoul, write th' note ter Gary an' I'll tell Stephan ter send it by way of my favorite pigeon, Alanna. She's a right noble little flier, I'm sure she won't let ye—or R.E.B.E.L.—down."

"Thanks George," Raoul said gratefully, finally calm enough to gulp down his wine, "you're a really good friend."

"Well duh," George grinned, pouring the knight another glass, "so what's th' news from th' palace? I hear from me sources Myles has sobered up a bit, good for 'im…"

* * *

_Carthak:_

"M-my Liege, I bring unfortunate information," ventured a young knight by the name of Sir Gawain cautiously, tiptoeing around his words carefully. He didn't want to be the one to deliver the bad news, knowing the Emperor's propensity to anger quickly, but he had drawn straws with all the other knights and luck be had, he got the shortest one. He just prayed no one killed the messenger!

"Yes?" Emperor Orzone drawled lazily, vaguely curious. What did the bumbling fool want? He was in a meeting with ten of his top nobles, a few representatives from the University, and his Chief Advisor, hearing their pleas and complaints. Not that he attended such dry business voluntarily, but every now and then he had to throw his subjects a bone and pretend he actually gave a damn about their puny little problems, lest they turn their thoughts to the notion of revolt. Besides, it wasn't so bad hearing Lord Penikth argue with the Earl of Gray Manor over sheep grazing rights on the border between their fiefs—secretly he was daydreaming about his latest acquisition of power, the Gadget.

By the Hag, the thing was beautiful! Simply marvelous, the perfect welding of aesthetic magic and practical function. Its possibilities were endless. He could conquer the entire Southern lands with the magical device…perhaps even advance upwards into the North…

All though, he was still somewhat concerned that he still hadn't managed to get the thing to work properly yet--not that he wanted to release all the magic within his personal chambers of course, for that could potentially destroy his entire capital city on accident, but he _did_ want to at least know how to operate it when the time came. Unfortunately, he had no inkling yet as to how to reach the magic inside. There was no discernable lock and key, no spoken incantation required, no way to access its secrets without the creator's help. He'd just have to talk to Lord Oppenheimer later today after his stuffy old meeting and demand he teach him how to work the thing.

The young knight shook his head sadly; he didn't know the victim personally, but from what he'd heard, the mage was a very powerful man. A bit of an eccentric loner, but overall a decent sort of guy. Well, maybe. There had been an incident a few years back where his supposed lover at the time had mysteriously been found strangled to death in her bedrooms, and wild rumormongers had been quick to pinpoint the man who wooed her for months on end. But no charges were ever convicted against him, and soon the gossip died out. Besides, it was probably some random hire paid to settle a score between feuding lords. Typically such hits involved the man in question himself, but occasionally nobles were crueler and went after beloved family members instead. Oh, the trials and tribulations of courtly games…

"Lord Oppenheimer was found dead in his rooms," Sir Gawain murmured, stiffening his muscles in preparation, just in case the Emperor decided to chuck his desk chair at him or something. "It looks like a sword-related injury, there's blood all over the carpet—"

The room full of nobles gasped in unison like a chorus of well-trained seals; the Earl of Gray actually had to slap an unsteady hand over his mouth to keep from shrieking like a little girl and embarrassing himself in front of the council. The Emperor's reaction was no less vehement. "_What?_" Charthak's ruler hissed, clutching his chair for support. "How? Who, who did this?"

"No one knows, my liege," the knight replied delicately, "only a lone serving maid and the royal doorman saw the murder leave the premises, carrying a red-headed girl—I believe it was Lord Oppenheimer's fiancé? The Lady Alanna? So it appears as if it's a kidnapping case, as well as first-degree murder…"

"Bring the maid and doorman to me this instant! Go!" The Emperor ordered, pushing back his wooden chair to pace his room in a towering rage. Curse it! With the mage dead he might never un-tap the secrets of the Gadget! He'd kill the man who thwarted his plans!

The royal doorman was found too drunk to give testimony, so Sir Gawain abandoned him in the guardhouse to his boisterous rendition of "The Sailor and the Mermaid."

"Honestly," the young knight muttered disgustedly, "who gets intoxicated before the noon day meal? And what in Mithros' name does '_two strategically placed sea shells_' mean? That doesn't even make sen—_oh_, I get it, now…"

Loloya was dragged from her kitchen stool quite reluctantly, but a summons from the Emperor could not be denied. Even the pleasing appearance and gentle kind words of the handsome Sir Gawain did little to comfort the girl in the face of an obviously important hearing with the Emperor. One look at Orzone's fuming face confirmed her initial terrors.

"Tell me again girl, _what did he look like_?" The Emperor screeched, his angry voice echoing around the vast cavernous chamber. He looked like a snorting pit bull that had just gotten his favorite femur bone chew toy stolen—not happy.

"T-tall, b-black hair, b-big b-b-blue eyes—" The serving maid stuttered, quivering in her boots quite literally. She never expected to be called before the Emperor and his entire court! She was just a simple chamber lass!

"Yes, yes I know that all ready!" The Emperor snapped, "but there must be something else we can use to identify him! Half the men in my kingdom fit that description!"

The girl cowered, shaking uncontrollably. Oh what she would give to be back in her kitchen spicing the stew! Curse her misfortune, to be the only witness to the Phantom Man's crime!

"I have a suggestion your majesty, if I may?" Piped the unemployed University Headmaster unctuously, obviously hoping to be reinstated to his old post, now that the seat was vacant. He fought to keep the smirk out of his voice; apparently, he was the only man happy to see Lord Oppenheimer dead. "Why doesn't the girl draw a picture of the criminal, then we can post signs around the city and offer a substantial reward for information leading to his capture. Those sniveling peasants would sell their own mothers for a bit of gold in their pocket—say, $10,000 gold nobles?"

"That's a brilliant idea, Hamilton!" The Emperor trilled, finally pleased with the direction this meeting was going. Perhaps not every idiot on his council was quite so useless after all.

Loloya mustered every ounce of her artistic ability to create a profile sketch of the man she had seen running down the hallways. Fortunately, her mother had been quite the painter, and taught her a trick of two of the trade. She captured Jon's likeness on paper with some carefully drawn charcoal sketches. She was no Michelangelo, but she managed to produce a fairly accurate rendition of the Phantom Man. She ended up lengthening his jet black hair considerably, and added a few extra inches to his height, but overall the sketch looked remarkably like the Prince of Tortall to the T.

When she was finished, Hamilton snatched up the page and offered to reproduce copies of it using his magical abilities. He just knew the Emperor would give him back his post if he just did a really, really, _really_ good job!

But suddenly Hamilton was interrupted in his groveling supplication by the rotund noble sitting to his left.

"By the Hag! I know that man!" Lord Penikth cried, leaping (rather awkwardly) to his feet in surprise. "He used to be a slave in my house before he managed to escape! Then he returned a week later and robbed me blind! Not to mention slept with my wi—er, uh, my wife's favorite servant girl. Um, but right, what was his name again. Jacobian? Eh, that wasn't it, maybe Jeremiah? Ah, no, his name was Jonathan! That's it!"

"A slave! A mere slave managed to kill the best mage in my court?" The Emperor howled indignantly, looking affronted.

Mage Hamilton grimaced a little at the title his former employer used for the late Lord Oppenheimer. Sure, the Lord of Crow's Lane was decent in the magical arts, but really, wasn't the "best mage in court" taking it a wee bit far? Hamilton could think of several other mages far superior in ability who deserved the title…namely, himself.

Lord Penikth shifted his rather heavy weight uncomfortably. Maybe he shouldn't have ipened his big fat mouth, now the Emperor wouldprobably blame him for allowing his slave to escape in the first place…oh gods…

"Well, erm, he was a rather strong slave," Lord Penikth muttered, "very ah, shrewd and mean, yes quite mean, always terrorizing the kitchen girls and the yard animals…I swear one time I saw him kick a puppy..."

The Emperor ignored the annoing lord, instead focusing on taking deep breaths to keep from overexerting himself. His healer had been nagging him for weeks to keep his blood pressure down, lest an undue amount of anxiety spark a deadly heart attack. It was either cut down on the stress or cut down on the roast beef, and the Emperor certainly preferred the former. Nonetheless, his eyes glinted in fury, and his knuckles were dead white.

"I want posters with this man—no, this _beasts_'—name, picture, physical description, and the offer of substantial monetary reward on it made immediately. Put up hundreds, no, thousands! Of them around the city, on all the walls and in all the taverns…search high and low for him, I want border patrols, I want men at the docks, making sure he can't flee the country by boat. I want guards riding through every village and hamlet. I want our neighbors to the north informed that if they see him he is to be returned immediately to Carthak for trial as a traitor against the state and a rogue terrorist! I want every man, woman, and child in the kingdom to know his face—I want him returned to me, alive or dead, at any cost! Do you understand me? Make it happen!"

The nobles glanced around hesitantly at one another, unsure who exactly the Emperor was directing his tirade towards. This seemed like a matter for the head of the guards, not a bunch of merchants and university officials…were they supposed to respond? Thankfully, Orzone quickly relieved them of any responsibility in the matter.

"You!" The Emperor pointed at Sir Gawain, "inform Sir Dominatron the Guardsmaster! He will spearhead the campaign! This, this _Jonathan_ is officially at the top of Carthak's Most Wanted List!"

…**Saphron…**

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A/N_: Oh boy, Jon's in trouble now eh…-gulp- how's he going to escape the Carthakis this time? His face will be plastered everywhere! Oo things are so not looking good for our heroes (tehehe –snickers gleefully- er, you didn't hear that…) And thanks again for all your fabulously inspirational reviews :) i swear I never get tired of reading "this is the best fic ever!"

PS: Hamilton is a historical figure from the American history textbooks. He was actually a banker who wanted to reform our country's early monetary system, but meh, I liked his name so...also, Sir Gawain is another historical figure from the ye olden days of King Arthur. Just in case anyone was interested, lol.


	41. Chapter 41 Fide Mea On My Honor

**Homeward Bound: An Alternate Version of In the Hand of the Goddess**

**By Saphron**

_A/N:_ That was some fabulous reviewer response! To address general questions/comments (**main idea bolded** like so, so you can skip the ones that don't interest you):

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1. THANKS for everyone who informed me the book was **Wuthering Heights**! It was totally bugging me until I found out, lol. 

2. Coeur Casse asked about **Numair's** possible involvement in the lives of our favorite heroines, and for that you'll just have to wait and see…all I can say is he WILL show up again, but he is not, and has never been, a central character in this story. He does play his part though. ;)

3. Ahhh many of you have asked/wondered/speculated about future plot endeavors involving a certain **awareness in Tortall** stemming from Jon's posters/Alanna's true gender…all I can say is, you guys are very perceptive readers, and I hope there's enough set-up/foreshadowing so the plot line isn't completely random, but at the same time y'all are still surprised (in a good way). Between the two of us (er, well, me plus the approximately fifty of you reading this story) things are bound to be fun.

4. Pretzel (formerly known as piglet123) asked **how many chapters are left**, but I'm honestly not sure. I went back and read somewhere in an A/N that 30 was going to be the max, and look at it now! So I very tentatively say 20 more, but that's just an approximation, so don't hold me to it, lol. It was going to be only 10, but then I laid out the plot tonight, and actually I think we might even be looking at 30 more. Who knows? Not I, said the duck…

5. PS: the "**two strategically placed sea shells**" was lifted straight from life. I went to an ABC (that stands for Anything But Clothes) party where, basically, you're not allowed to wear clothes. Relax! You don't go naked, you just going wearing towels, plastic trash bags, caution tape, etc. And I went with two strategically placed cereal bowls, tehehehe. It was a big hit with the frat boys! Just in case any of y'all ever need any costume advice, lol.

6. Impossible-dreams pointed out **the name Dominatron is really close to Domitan**, which was a very good observation, but no, sadly, there is no connection whatsoever. I was just in rush to post the chapter quickly and randomly made up a name. So don't worry guys, I have nothing against Dom!

7. **Evelyn darling**, I always want to review reply you but I can't lol because you're not logged in, but know that I totally love your off-the-wall reviews. :)

8. WitchyMage pointed out that **10,000 gold nobles had a dollar sign** in front. –blushes- MY BAD! I totally spaced and forgot that Tortall does not America, eheh. As for **the maid's sketch**…true, that wasn't exactly strong, but it's integral to the plot (it's the whole reason she saw him in the first place) and…um…oh well. If I ever revise this I'll add something about how Hamilton assisted her memory magically or something, lol. (PS: Maybe there's different spellings fo Gawain, but my book spells it without the "e" at the end. –shrugs-)

9. As for **the Emperor's name**…I searched TP's historical base and I still have no idea when Orzone came to power. I think I said something before about how he wasn't…but um, now he is! The old guy died! Er, yeah. Whatever, he's obviously the bad guy (or one of them…there's several, Dante, Dominatron, Roger, Lord O., Orzone…does the list ever end?) 'Nuff said.

10. **Thanks for plot/story/fluff ideas**! That's not a bad plan, Miss Me and a Half, though I have a slightly different set-up for the fluff. But still, I totally appreciate your input! (PS: Fluff IS forthcoming!)

**Fin! Read On!**

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Chapter 41 **– "_Fide Mea" _("On My Honor"_)  
_

"Do not let loyalty and faithfulness forsake you; bind them around your neck, write them on the tablet of your heart" -- _The Bible _

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Tortall:_

"I officially call the second general meeting of R.E.B.E.L to order," Raoul declared, glancing around the room solemnly. "Now, our first order of business is to all learn the secret handshake and password so—yes Jerome, what is it?"

"Er, why do we need all this secret stuff?" the page asked, "I mean, we all ready know everyone involved with the Resistance, it seems kind of unnecessary."

"Good question, boy," Raoul nodded approvingly, "and the answer is simple: magic. Magic can do crazy things to people. We all ready have silencing spells on the doors, but that's not enough. I'm no mage, so I'm not exactly sure the extent to which magic can be utilized, but I'm pretty certain it's theoretically possible for a mage—namely, Roger—to infiltrate our Establishment using the Gift. He could probably disguise himself as one of us, or, or, enchant us to do his bidding, I don't know. But _if_ magic is used, we'll be prepared. So therefore, the new policy; from now on, is this: you shall not divulge information, grant access to headquarters, or speak of R.E.B.E.L. business with anyone from our order without first giving the secret handshake and password, is that understood?"

Silent nods of acquiesce greeted him, so Raoul charged on readily. "This is the handshake—" he motioned, grasping Sir Gareth the Elder's wrist to demonstrate, twisting it an elaborate but memorable pattern, "and this is our secret password—remember it, and tell no one, not even your mothers—_'fide mea'_. Translated it means, 'on my word of honor.'"

Silence greeted his ringing announcement. The members of R.E.B.E.L. glanced at one another conspiratorially, each lost in thought about the significance of their actions. With a secret handshake and password, somehow their organization seemed more official—and more danger-fraught—then ever.

"So," Jerome whistled, "now that all that top secret stuff is done, who is up for a jolly little chat about how we're going to break Gary out, eh?"

And with that, the meeting soon broke into an animated discussion on that very topic.

* * *

"Do you mean to tell me they were bright enough to realize magic could be used against them?" Roger asked his former squire, his voice tinged with surprise. "Pity, I didn't think those fools were so clever." 

"I know," Alex replied calmly, "but Raoul is surprisingly sharp. No matter though, as long as they trust me we'll be fine. We all ready know their pitiful little handshake and secret password. _Fide mea_, on my honor."

"Yes, how…quaint." Roger sniffed, obviously disdainfully. "But still, I don't like this whole organization. I wish I could crush them…but I believe it will be better to wait, to see what I'm—we're—up against. You've done good work Alex, better than any man I could trust." The older man placed an affectionate hand on the younger one's shoulder, but the smile did not reach his eyes. "I thank you."

"It is my honor," Alex murmured, bowing low to the ground in respect. "I'll report back tomorrow, same time, same place."

* * *

_Carthak_: 

"Please Alanna, oh won't you please wake up?" Jonathan whispered, stroking her hair softly. He knew she couldn't feel his touch in her deep state of unconsciousness, but caressing her silky red hair calmed and comforted him. "What do you think is wrong with her?"

The question was direction at the Lady Chief of the thieves' Brotherhood, who had no answer for her distraught friend. Jon had awoken that morning exhausted and hungry, but he refused to eat until he had seen Alanna. Consequently, dark circles hung under his eyes against the ghostly pallor of his skin, and Saraiya desired nothing more than to get him back in bed. But he was a stubborn lad, and didn't know what was for his own good.'

"I'm not sure…" she said slowly, "from yer description of the fight, I'd say the spell should'a killed her. Frankly, t'is a miracle she's alive at all. For some reason my healing tests 'ave shown she's perfectly healthy, minus th' whole coma thing. Her heart rate's steady an' there's enough color 'n 'er cheeks so I'm not too concerned, but I still don' like th' fact she won't wake up. It's awfully mysterious lad, I won't lie to ye."

"I know," Jon nodded miserably, his eyes sad and guilt-ridden, "why did you do it Alanna?" he murmured, "why did you take the blow that was meant for me?"

"Don't blame yerself Jon, she made her choice—" Sariaya said soothingly, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"But she shouldn't have to protect me! It should be the other way around!" Jon cried, struggling to maintain his composure.

"Why?" Saraiya questioned quietly, "just because yer th' man an' she's the girl? Forget yer lofty notions of courtly chivalry boy, she is, and wants to be, above all yer squire. Squires protect their knights, it's what they do, not th' other way around."

Jon had nothing to reply to that, so he simply settled his weight into his chair and clutched Alanna's hand more tightly.

* * *

The soft mound of steaming white bread smelled absolutely delicious. A faint wisp of scented steam floated through the air appetizingly, making Rascal's mouth water with the thought of every juicy bite. As a mere commoner, and a thief at that, he was used to the coarser brown bread of the Lower City—fine white bread was reserved as a luxury for the rich. The last time he had tasted it had been on the eve of his fifteenth birthday, a few weeks before his mother, who had been traveling through Tortall at the time as a maid for a fine gentle lady on vacation, caught a mysterious sweating sickness and died shortly thereafter. She hadn't wanted to leave her only son for such a long stretch of time, but the opportunity to make a fair sum of money necessitated the journey. She had promised him that when she returned, they'd have enough gold to buy white bread every day, 

But she never returned, and his father, an old sea dog who had been itching to return to life on the high seas for years, found his sudden wife's death to be the perfect opportunity, so he set sail the morning he found out the news from the noble woman's other servants. This had left poor little Rascal by his lonesome, orphaned and hungry—until Saraiya took him in and trained him as a member of the Brotherhood. Ever since had become an Arabian Knight his life had been tumultuous and exciting, but he had never ended up with that white bread on his plate.

Until today. Oh, today was his perfect opportunity. There it was, just sitting there on its little platter, ripe for the plucking for a quick and clever thief such as himself. The baker was busy bustling about behind his table of wears, setting up the pastries and pies he had brought from his kitchen that morning. Surely he wouldn't miss one little loaf of simple white bread…

Rascal rubbed his fingers nervously, his eyes darting furiously around him for the sight of a palace guard or rival thieves. Granted, neither presence was likely—the guards stuck mainly to the Temple District and the wealthier merchant areas of the Lower City, although today there seemed to be a heavier than normal presence of them, and most of Carthak's thieves belonged to the Brotherhood. Not all of them—too many were too proud to serve under the leadership of a woman, even one as intelligent and cunning as Saraiya—but enough so the Arabian Knights best remained vigilant. However, on this warm winter afternoon, the coast was clear and Rascal was hungry.

With a fluid, lightening like motion, his long fingers snaked around the tender loaf and snatched if off the plate. The bread was halfway to his mouth when a gruff hand grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and began beating him with a rolled up piece of parchment.

"THEIF!" the baker shouted loudly, causing a few passer-byers to glance up curiously in his direction, "I've just caught a THIEF tying to steal my bread!"

Rascal dropped the bread and squirmed, twisting to get out of the man's iron grasp. But the hold on his shirt collar remained steadfast, and the thief was left to struggle fruitlessly for his freedom.

"Take THAT, you filthy, dirty, street rat! And THAT, and THAT, and THAT!" The baker snarled, beating Rascal on the head with renewed force, clearly intent on punishing him.

"OW!" Rascal cried, flinching from the attack. For a rolled up piece of parchment, the blows certainly hurt!

A passing temple healer actually shot him a sympathetic glance before disappearing back into the trawling mass of shoppers and pedestrians, and Rascal felt a renewed sense of hope fill him. Last time he had gotten caught thieving, he had been left in the stocks for two days. After getting rotten tomatoes and cruel insults hurled at him endlessly, he had no desire to return to the criminal's court. Especially since the punishment for a second offense was even more severe: a severed thumb.

He was tempted to break into a stream of angry cursing, but Sariaya had warned him countless times that doing so just made things worse. _When you can, go for sympathy_, she had drilled into his head, _tears often produce more than swears_.

"Aww please, please sir, I did'na mean'it sir, oh please sir, it's just me mum sir, she's so sick wit' th' consumption sir, an' me 'n Polly 'n Susie 'n Kimmy 'n Jenny are just so h'ung'ry sir," Rascal begged, opening his eyes wide and praying his child-like charms got him somewhere with the burlesque man. His poor man's accent was, after all, completely flawless.

The baker snorted disdainfully, but his eyes softened a smidge and his iron grip loosened noticeably, "s'no excuse for stealin' a man's hard-made bread!"

"Oh aye, sir," Rascal agreed readily, sniffling audibly, as if on the verge of tears, "I'm aw'fully sorry an' I promise t'never ever do it again no more sir, honest! Just please don' tell that magistrate sir, he'll chop off m' head for sure 'n then who 'ould take care of little Polly 'n Susie 'n Kimmie 'n Jenny?"

The baker sighed, and dropped his arm noticeably. The parchment fell to the floor, and Rascal felt a flutter of hope swirl inside him.

"Don' be silly lad, the' magistrate won' cut off yer head, yer just a little boy," the Baker said. "Now, I'm going to let you go, but if I ever catch you an' your sticky fingers sniffing around my booth again, I swear t' Mithros—_I'll_ chop off yer head meself!"

Secretly, Rascal was quite affronted—he had just passed his eighteenth birthday last month, and hardly considered himself a boy—but if pretending to be a little kid helped him keep his right thumb, he'd certainly play the role!

"Gosh sir, thanks s'much sir, yer aw'fully kind sir, me 'n Polly 'n—"

"—Susie 'n Kimmy 'n Jenny, I know!" The baker barked exasperatedly, but true to his word released his hold on Rascal's neck. "Now go on 'n get outta 'ere!"

Rascal turned on his heel, ready to break into a sprint as fast as his legs would carry him, when he heard a sudden shout from behind him.

"Wait!" The baker cried. Rascal hesitated—Saraiya's training dictated he should run and run hard, in case the baker had changed his mind and decided to turn him in after all, but his instincts told him to stay. He made a split second decision, and turned to face the baker, trusting his guts to not let him down.

"Aye, sir?" He asked cautiously, every muscle poised to sprint away,

The baker scooped up both the fallen parchment and bread loaf, wrapping the food in the paper and tying the package with a bit of string twine. "Well this got dropped 'n is all dirty now so I can't even sell it. Here, give it to your imaginary sisters."

"Thanks!" Rascal said genuinely, too bewildered and happy to notice the baker's subtle reference to the word 'imaginary.' He tore the package upon the instant he was out of site, and began devouring the savory delicacy like a rabid animal.

He walked the short distance back to the Sandlot Inn merrily munching on his golden treasure. He was halfway through the loaf when he happened to glance down at the parchment containing his price. Inside was a picture of a man's face and words that read:

**WANTED:** For **crimes** against the state, the **kidnapping** of a noble lady, and the **murder**of the University Headmaster, one former slave, approximately two yards tall, with black unruly hair and deep blue eyes. Looks to be of northern descent, and goes by the name **Jonathan. **Report any sightings or information regarding the whereabouts of this dangerous criminal to palace guards immediately. **REWARD**: 10,000 gold nobles for capture, alive or dead. 2000 gold nobles for information. – The Emperor

"Oh shit, this isn't good…" Rascal muttered, racing through the gates of the Sandlot Inn at breakneck speed, his white bread forgotten. "Oy!" he groaned, "why do _I_ always have to be the one to deliver the bad news to th' Chief?"

**…****Saphron…**

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_A/N: _You know what's really confusing? Whenever I search for my story I can't find it. Can you all see it, or is it just me? Do you guys read the next chapter when you get a story alert in the mail, or like, randomly find it on the TP fandom site? Eh, then again, I've always been retarded with technology, so maybe it's just me… (a little help, por favor?)


	42. Chapter 42 Party Plans and Farewell Flee

**Homeward Bound: An Alternate Version of In the Hand of the Goddess**

**By Saphron**

_A/N:_ A couple of you commented on R.E.B.E.L.'s legitimacy as an actual threat to Roger's power. Well, you're right, many aspects of the organization ARE meant for comic effect. The organization consists of a few young knights, a couple squires, some ditzy woman, etc. It's a very amateur group, not a cohesive, well-oiled terrorist-like cell. So yes, it is "child-like;" nonetheless, everyone in the club is trying their hardest to do _something_…they can't help it if the situation seems impossible and they've never had to do anything like this before. Roger isn't too worried, but don't write off R.E.B.E.L. quite yet as completely useless. Remember, there main goal is to free Gary. Their secondary goal is to overthrow Roger. But right now, they're focusing on their friend's imprisonment. Let's see if they're successful…

_PS:_ Sorry last chapter was a bit of boring filler, I need to wade through some set-up stuff before we can return to the heavy action. Patience, patience, lol…(oh, and sorry this is a bit short, but hopefully y'all enjoy it anyway)

_PPS_: And you guys were right about the rating thing I think! Hmm…I'm tempted to change it back down so people know this story exists, but at the same time, I think that wouldn't quite be morally right, because quite frankly this _is_ a story for more mature audiences…what do you guys think? Leave it or change it?

_PPPS:_ To answer Impossible-dreams' many questions, this story ONLY deals with Alanna's _squire_ years.That means, no Claw. No Bazhir. No Thayet. No Liam, no Corum, no Bazhir, no Dominion Jewel - none of that. This is an alternate version of ITHOTG only, lol. However, once this epic thing is complete, I DO have other story ideas in mind, and MAYBE there will be a sequal to Homeward Bound. But that's a big maybe. We shall see kiddies!

_PPPPS:_ Many thanks, as always, to all my super-fab reviewers! I love, love, love basking in your undying praise :-D

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**Chapter 42 – Party Plans and Farewell Flees**

_Tortall:_

"I call this third official meeting of R.E.B.E.L. to order," Raoul said solemnly, shooting an annoyed look at the giggling Lady Ameetha. Honestly, didn't anyone else but him take this whole secret organization seriously?

"Our first order of business is to think of a way to raise funds for our cause. Any thoughts?"

"Why do we need money?" Jerome asked, not bothering to raise his hand.

"Because," Raoul explained patiently, "we'll need gold to bribe the guards outside Gary's door. Myles subtly suggested the idea to them and they seemed more than eager to accept our proposal. Obviously some of us are nobles, but with the exception of Sir Gareth and Sir Myles, we don't exactly have control over our fiefs' funds. That would be under the domain of our fathers."

"I don't care how much it costs," Sir Gareth vented bitterly, "the Naxen fife can spare the gold if it means the freedom of my son!"

Raoul shot the man a sympathetic look, "we appreciate your zeal Sir, but—and correct me if I'm wrong—hasn't Roger been taxing fief Naxen rather heavily lately?"

Sir Gareth paused for a moment, before nodding his head slowly in agreement. "Yes, he has. And I'm not the only one feeling the sting of the Duke's new laws! Sir Orlack was just telling me the other day about the new taxes levied on his shipping docks at Port Canyn that are absolutely devastating his overseas trade with Carthak, and Sir Rugela said the same about his castle near the Tyran border…"

Myles suddenly piped up from his quiet corner station. "I don't know what Roger is planning, but it must be something big, if he needs to finance his project from the vaults of his nobles when he's not even technically king. Money will be tight around the palace these days…so how exactly do you plan on raising the necessary gold?"

Raoul shrugged, "well, I had a couple of ideas, but I want to hear from you guys first. Thoughts? Opinions? Suggestions?"

Silence greeted him, until the cook's assistant had an (in her mind brilliant) epiphany.

"Um…bake-sale?" Minnie suggested, crinkling her nose in thought, "it always works when my drama club wants to put on an all female-production of one of Shakespeare's plays…of course, it's kind of difficult to play Romeo, but I learned my lines last year perfectly. 'But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the East, and Juliet is the sun!'"

Raoul gritted his teeth to remain cool and collected. "That's very…interesting...but I don't think that's quite what we need. I was actually considering profitable ventures, like a big charity event."

"Um, but if we have a charity event for Gary won't like, Duke Roger know about us and stuff?" Lady Ameetha puzzled, a blank expression glued to her face.

"It's Turnip! Call him _Turnip!_" Raoul grumbled, a slight edge to his voice. "And _obviously_ we wouldn't have a banner on the front door that said "Welcome to the Resistance Establishment of Believers against the Evil Lord's Fund Raiser! Drinks to the Left, Food to the Right, and Oh Yeah, Did We Mention We Hate Duke Roger?" The direction this money will be going will be known only to us, and in the meanwhile we'll just make up some fake charity. Like…the Society for Single Teenage Mothers or something, ok?"

Jerome perked up, "wait, so you mean, we get to throw a really big party? Where there will be a bunch of beautiful young single women? Sweet!"

"Dude, they're _mothers_," Taylor said disgustedly, smacking his page friend upside the head.

"So? The key word is _single_—"

"But they'll have kids!"

"But they could still be hot—"

"Enough!" Gary interrupted, wishing he had a gavel to bang on his desk like a judge, "we're changing the charity event to the Welfare Orphan Society! Now, moving on--

"I hate to burst your bubble, but any party thrown in the palace will obviously have to be approved by Roger, and we don't exactly want him noticing us more than is necessary. Besides that, there's still the fact that many nobles will be tight with their purse strings these days…" Myles pointed out.

"Hmm…" Raoul frowned, "that _is_ a problem…"

"'Scuse me Sir," Stephan the hostler murmured, twisting his tunic hem nervously, "but I 'ave an idear."

"Yes, _comrade_?" Raoul asked, emphasizing the 'comrade.' In R.E.B.E.L. headquarters he was not sir but brethren.

"Well, who says th' party has ter be for th' nobles, eh? Th' common-folk like ter 'ave a good time too, an' since they don't got no fiefs ter be taxed I think they'd probably shell out a few coppers for a big ol' party, 'specially one hosted by some noble knights an' whatnot."

"Stephan that's a brilliant idea! Each guest wouldn't pay a lot of course, but there's a hundred times more commoners than nobles, and a hundred times a few coppers…Mithros!"

Animated babble of approval and excitement broke out in R.E.B.E.L. headquarters, and Raoul let his fellow conspirators chat about the details for a good ten minutes before he interrupted the noisy din.

"Now we need to plan the details. Cookie, you and Minnie are in charge of organizing the menu, Lady Ameetha, you're on decorations duty, Stephan, could you please take the pages and spread the word around the city? Miles, Alex, Sir Gareth and I will plan the rest. By this time next week we'll surely have enough gold to free Gar—er, Turnip, from the clutches of the evil duke!"

* * *

_Carthak:_

The tiny cough reverberated loudly around the silent room, but the Prince of Tortall barely stirred from his tireless revelry. He had been up all night sitting by Alanna's bedside, watching the subtle rise and fall of her chest, hoping and praying she'd awaken soon. But as of yet he had little luck; her vital stats were perfectly strong, but still she remained strangely comatose.

"I'm sorry ter inturrpt lad," Saraiya murmured softly, stepping into the room. She had left him in peace for the last few hours, but now time was up—he needed to get out of the city, and quickly. "But ye must know…there's a price on yer head, an' a steep one at that. T'is a royal decree, just came out this mornin'."

Jon's bloodshot eyes glanced at the crinkled poster held directly under his nose. He groaned when he read the words captioned about an image of his head; 10,000 gold nobles, was he really worth that much?

"I suppose I'll have to cut and dye my hair to disguise myself," Jon submitted dryly, tossing the poster away with a disinterested flick of his wrist. "Oh well, so it shall be."

The Lady Chief shifted her weight uncomfortably and gave another delicate cough to capture Jon's attention. "Aye, but not just that laddy—'m afraid ye'll 'ave ter skip town. Like, right now. Else ye'll be caught and killed fer sure."

"What?" Jon blinked, finally lifting his head out of the cradle of his hands.

"I'll give ye a horse, clothes, supplies, whatever ye need, but yer gonna 'ave ter go. Th' Emperor is dead set in seein' ye hang from th' gallows, he's got half his men prowling th' city for ye."

Jon laughed hollowly, "surely you can't be serious? So I killed a man, big deal—"

"That happened to be the most powerful mage in Carthak, so yes, t'is a big deal actually—" Saraiya frowned, growing increasingly agitated.

"So?" Jon replied scathingly, "the Emperor can't scare me off! I'm not leaving until Alanna wakes up, and who knows when that will be? It's not like I can take her with me if she can't ride a horse, and besides she needs her rest. No, I'm staying, and that's final."

There were very few men in the lower city who would have dared used that tone against the Lady Chief of the Brotherhood of the Arabian Knights, as most men preferred to keep their testicles, but Jon was apparently not one of them.

"Now ye listen here—" Saraiya began angrily, but stopped short to take a deep breath to quell her anger, "I hate t' burst yer 'I always get what I want' bubble, but it don' work like that 'round 'ere. In case ye forgot, this is _my_ home yer stayin' in, an' ye can'st stay uninvited! Humf."

Jon rolled his eyes disgustedly, waving away her fiery glare. "_Fine_ Saraiya, _excuse_ me for presuming I could count on you for help. Let me rephrase; may I please stay here in your _lovely_ home until my square awakens? Thank you _oh_ so much for your kindness."

The Lady Chief's mouth dropped open in shock. Yes, she knew Jon had been having a difficult time lately, but that was no excuse for sarcasm and rudeness! Was he always such a royal stubborn prick?

"_No_, ye may most certainly not!" She sneered, ignoring the fact that his question was presumably rhetorical. "Yer leavin' tonight, no ifs, ands, or buts about it!"

"What the hell Saraiya!" Jon growled, leaping to his feet. He was tired, he was hungry, he was worried sick about Alanna—and he _so_ didn't need her bossy attitude right now!

"I have my men to think of," she retorted with gritted her teeth, "the Emperor's guards are sweeping house by house through th' city searchin' for ye. Luckily they've only had time ter hit the north quarters, but they should be here by tomorrow. They've all ready made it perfectly clear that whoever is caught harboring th' fugitive is ter be executed on th' spot. If they catch ye here, _every single one o' my men will die_—as will I. Now, if it were just my life personally, ye know I'd help, but as a leader for my people I can't do that. I can't risk their lives so carelessly like that—they all trust me ter look out for 'em. Do y' understand?"

"I—" Jon started. But he had nothing to say in response, so finally he settled on a quiet, "I…never thought of that…"

"Look," Sariaya said more gently, rubbing her temples where a stress headache was forming, "I'll take care of yer lass, all right? I'll arrange for th' best healers, food, water, everythin'—I won't let no ill come t'her. But you've got t' trust me. An' you've got ter leave the city, tonight."

Jon stood quietly for a moment, an internal battle raging within him. On one hand, the last thing on earth he wanted to do was leave Alanna, especially in the condition she was in where she couldn't take care of herself. What kind of knight-master would he be if he just abandoned his squire like that? But on the other hand, Saraiya made a very logical point…if he didn't flee the city he'd be caught for sure…what could he do, hide under the kitchen table and hope the guards didn't notice? Even if he dyed and cut his hair, he would still stand out like a sore thumb in the crowd of darker skinned Carthakis. He was the only pale northerner for miles, besides Alanna.

And as a leader for his own people, Jon could understand where Saraiya was coming from. If he had a choice between protecting the citizens of Tortall or helping a friend, he might be forced to make a very difficult—but necessary—decision…

"All right," he murmured hoarsely, hanging his head in defeat, "I'll leave tonight. I'll head north for the ports, maybe I could catch a ship—"

"No, t'is no good laddy, the Emperor will 'ave men stationed at all th' major ports ter make sure ye can't leave th' country. An' there will be soldiers in th' cities too, ye'll 'ave ter stay away from them as well."

"Bloody hell!" Jon cursed, "if I can't leave the country and I can't stay in a city, where in the fuck am I supposed to _go_?"

Saraiya graciously decided to ignore his rather vulgar language in light of the fact that he was so upset and it wasn't directed towards her personally. But still, if that boy wasn't careful, she'd hold him over the wash bin and wash his mouth out with soap. Several times.

"Ter th' little villages lad, ter hide where no one can find ye. An' if th' soldiers come t' th' villages, ye'll flee into th' hills an' wait in th' woods fer th' heat ter die down. The Emperor won't be able ter look for ye forever…for one thing he don' got th' resources an' th' gold ter keep it up for too long, an' fer another he'll probably get bored of th' chase after a bit. There's always some big scandal or criminal or gossipy rumor goin' 'round, but always after awhile things quiet down again. Just hang out an' keep yer head low 'till this whole thing blows over, all right lad?"

"But what about Alanna…how will she know where to find me?" Jon murmured, gulping at the prospect of fleeing into the wilderness by himself. He had the sinking feeling life was about to get much more difficult…

"Go ter th' village o' Little Wimpleton in th' district of Hamltonshire, I 'ave relatives there who 'll give ye shelter for a bit if ye mention me name. When Alanna awakens I'll tell her ter meet ye there, an' the two of you can take it from there. When th' heats gone ye can sail home again, just be patient."

Jon closed his eyes and gathered his strength. "Very well," he breathed, "thank you for all your help Saraiya—I mean that. I apologize for what I said earlier, I, I was upset. I understand where you're coming from, and that I asked too much of you. I know what it's like to have people depending on you."

"S'ok," the Lady Chief said gruffly, though secretly she was pleased. Mayhap the boy was learning some manners after all.

"Just—take care of her, all right?" He whispered softly, his eyes full of uncertainty and fear.

"Aye lad, I will," she nodded solemnly.

The two embraced in a brief but strong hug, before Jon released himself and went downstairs for his new haircut. When he emerged hours later on the back of a sturdy gray roan mare, significantly blonder and wearing a dark cloak and low-slung hood, he glanced back at the steady little inn glowing with candlelight one last time before kicking his horse into a swift canter. As the chilly night wind blew his cloak fiercely about him, he touched two fingers to the tip of his mouth, where he could still feel the softness of Alanna's cheek on his lips from his final farewell kiss...

**…****Saphron…**

**

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**  
_A/N:_ Jeez louise, could I BE any more evil? All I ever do is separate them lol, only to briefly reunite them for a bit of fluff, and then, just when things look like they're about to go somewhere, I tear them apart again! Am I sadistic or what, lol? Anyway…fear not…this is NOT the end of A/J fluff, far to the contrary. I just couldn't make things TOO easy on our heroes, now could I? (After all, what fun would that be? Tehe.)


	43. Chapter 43 Deals and Dung

**Homeward Bound: An Alternate Version of In the Hand of the Goddess**

**By Saphron**

_A/N:_ This scene was obviously inspired by the first part of the fourth Alanna book, lol. I like referencing the text every now and then, even in such indirect ways. (So yes, please don't flame me with 'hey! You stole that!' because as I just mentioned, that was completely deliberate.)

God I know, so much boring filler crap these last few chapters, and probably this one. Sorry. :-/ Things will pick up…I'm just in a bit of a writer's block slump…too much Nyquil, gah. I hate being sick! That's why this is so short, I need to get some sleep…nighty night loves…

_PS:_ (oh, and I have no clue if it's PSS or PPS lol, I was just guessing. Any ideas?) T'is the 600 review benchmark! WOW. Bloody…wow. I don't even knwo what to say except wow...and you guys rock my socks off!

* * *

**Chapter 43 – Deals and Dung**

_Tortall:_

Gary's disheartened eyes roved around his chambers for the umpteenth time. He had spent the first few days of his confinement angrily pacing his room, furiously pounding on the door, and screaming fruitlessly into his pillow. But now he was exhausted, and seemingly resolved to his fate. No one was allowed to enter, and he was certainly not allowed to leave. Duke Roger had control over the guards at his door, and overall the situation seemed hopeless.

He sighed, rolling over onto his side. It looked like he'd be trapped here for months, maybe years…where were his friends? Had they all forgotten about them?

_I thought at least Raoul would care…_ Gary thought miserably to himself, decidedly depressed.

Suddenly his ears perked up from the faint echo of a slight knocking sound, interrupting his angst-fest. He glanced at the door—but it didn't sound like the rap of human knuckles against solid wood. He frowned, leaning on one elbow in a half-sitting position, and scanned the room from corner to corner.

There! By the window! He strode quickly to the window frame, opening it to let in a small grey pigeon with a piece of parchment tied to its ankle.

"Mirthos!" Gary gasped, blinking surprisedly at the bird perched on his bedpost. The creature was looking at him plaintively, as if to say, 'well, are you going to take this note or not?'

The knight gingerly reached out and, holding his breath, removed the little red string attatched ot the bird's leg. A small rolled up piece of parchment fell to the floor, and Gary bent down to scoop it up as the bird affectionately pecked him on the thumb before taking off into the night.

Silently, Gary read the note:

_Gary, don't panic. Help is on the way. I can't say much in case this note gets intercepted (which it shouldn't, because the city lad friend of ours has trained these messenger pigeons well and we'll be using them in all future communications, but just in case), but know that we've formed a secret organization against our favorite smiling friend and we're going to bust you out. There's not enough space here to go into details, but plans are in the works. Don't worry about a thing, just be patient. Hang in there buddy._

_-R._

Gary read the letter three times, drinking in the words like a sponge. His eyes widened in happy shock; he had to resist the urge to whoop for joy. So they hadn't forgotten about him after all! Mithros, but of course they wouldn't have, how could he have been so ridiculous? He had friends in the palace—powerful friends—and Duke Roger could do nothing about that.

As if on cue, the door to his room swung open and the Duke strolled in, looking nonchalant.

"You!" Gary gasped, spinning on his heel and quickly tucking the parchment paper into the fold of his sleeve. He growled as if to leap on the mage like a wild beast, but the Duke held up a hand, a clear gesture of peace—and a subtle threat.

"Don't even think about trying to attack me," the Duke drawled lazily, "there's ten guards outside that door. Besides which, I've taken the precaution of placing a magic barrier shield about my person, and if you so much as touched it, a thousands bolts of magical energy would sizzle through your body and…well, there's no need for the gory details. Suffice to say the sight wouldn't be pretty."

"What do you want?" Gary sneered, trembling with suppressed rage. "Is there a point to this little meeting or did you just come in here to mock me?"

The Duke chuckled. "My dear boy, you flatter yourself. Do you honestly think I, the reigning king of Tortall—"

"You're not king!" Gary interrupted loudly, but the Duke's voice overrode him, as if he didn't hear.

"—would have the time to stop by and 'mock' you, a lowly little knight? Au contraire, I have much more important things to attend to. I simply came to seal some bars on your window, nothing more."

"What?" Gary paled.

"Oh yes, I'm quite aware of your friends' little secret plot against me, it's quite amusing," the Duke chuckled cheerfully, waving a glowing hand over the window in Gary's room. "My informant has been most useful. Messenger birds through the window…quite ingenious, I must say."

"But, but…how? You, you mean…someone's…they've…betrayed…?" Gary stumbled, bitten by the shock. Someone Raoul trusted was a double agent working against him!

"Oh yes, very good. I'm clearly in awe of your mental prowess, picking up the facts of the situation so quickly like that. 'You, you mean…someone's…they've…betrayed…?'" the Duke said scornfully, mocking him.

Gary's face flushed furiously. Oh how he wanted to rip the Duke's sneering face off!

"But in all seriousness Gary, I've also come to…make a proposition, if you will. I'd like to offer you a deal," Roger added, having finished up with the window. He eyed his handiwork appreciatively—_not too bad_, he appraised. It was a good thing he had been a practiced sword-maker for years—he really knew how to wield metal!

"What kind of deal?" Gary asked warily. "Because I will _never_ turn against one of my friends, not if my life depended on it, and if you think—"

"Quiet," the Duke snapped, rolling his eyes, "I have no interest in your stupid bumbling little friends. R.E.B.E.L. poses about as much threat to me as a herd of grass-eating sheep. Now, if we may continue? Why don't you sit down, make yourself comfortable."

Gary remained standing stoically.

"Very well, suit yourself," the Duke murmured, settling comfortably into a nearby chair. "The deal is this; apologize publicly, and you shall be allowed to leave your rooms again."

Gary's blank face stared back at the Duke. That was it? All he had to do was apologize?

As if reading his thoughts, the Duke continued, "yes, that's it, just stand up at dinner and say you're sorry in front of the entire court, that you were grossly misinformed, and retract every accusatory claim you made against me. It's simple, really. What do you say?"

Gary bit his lip, contrasting thoughts tumbling through his brain. On one hand, it was a relatively easy request that could procure his long awaited freedom, but on the other hand, wouldn't he be betraying his honor as a knight and the very code of chivalry he lived by if he lied in front of the entire court and pretended to support the murderer of his king?

Gary was not allowed to light a fire or even simple candles in his room, but fortunately the Duke couldn't stop the sun, and suddenly a beam of light darted through the window and bounced off the Duke's glinting eyes.

Gary took one look at those evil, shining eyes and realized with a sick feeling of dread that it was nothing but a trap. Even if he apologized, the Duke would never allow him to go free. He'd simply force him to do his bidding, thus restoring his reputation at court, and then lock him back up again with no one the wiser.

"Let me guess," Gary muttered darkly, "if I agree and apologize, I'll be escorted by ten or so big strong guards down to the dining room. And as soon as I've said my little piece, telling everyone what a super great guy you are, the next thing I know I'll be whipped back upstairs and thrown back into my chambers. You're not actually planning on letting me go…and I'd be a fool to believe you."

Roger's unctuous expression suddenly twisted, turning dark and cold. "I see," he said simply, narrowing his eyes. "Very well, I know it will be futile to try and persuade you that I'm telling the truth, but if you insist on stewing in your own mess, well...there's not really much I can do about it, is there? I came in here with a peace offering, but clearly you're far too mistrustful of my good intentions..."

For a second Gary hesitated. Could he be mistaken? Had he been too cynical?

The Duke saw the uncertainty in Gary's eyes and his face lit up. The effect was immediate. Gary scoffed, clearly disgusted with himself for pausing even briefly to consider trusting the man.

"The answer is still _no_," he answered acidly, ever inch of him a true knight of the realm.

"Curse you fool!" Roger snarled, his face contorting in rage. He lept from his chair, bristling with anger. "How dare you refuse me? You're lucky to even be alive! I could have you killed anytime I pleased!"

"And risk the anger of the entire court? I think not," Gary scoffed, secretly pleased he had succeeded in enraging the Duke.

A heavy hand whipped out from behind Roger's cloak and slapped Gary across the face. The knight stumbled backwards, clearly stunned, and the Duke turned on his heel to leave.

"You're on thin ice, boy," Roger intoned darkly as he reached for the door know, "don't forget who holds the keys around here…you'd be wise not to cross me further. And just so you know, I'm going to crush your little friends. I'll see every last one of them hanging on traitor's hill, of that you can be assured!"

* * *

_Carthak:_

"Must…stay…awake..." Jon muttered to himself, fighting the urge to yawn broadly. Mithros was he tired! He had been riding all night, picking his way across the Carthaki terrain, keeping to the smaller roads and dodging into the bushes anytime a fellow rider drew near, terrified it was a guard looking for him. So far he hadn't had too much trouble, but still, that was no reason to throw caution to the wind. He knew what the punishment was for getting caught. If only he could find the little village!

Maybe he should stop and ask for directions…? No, even with his new blond hair, he couldn't risk being sighted. In all likelihood the people in the countryside hadn't heard of him yet and probably wouldn't for weeks—news traveled slow by horseback—but better safe than sorry, Uncle Gareth had always said. Besides, he had his pride—he could find his way on his own!

Saraiaya had drawn him a map, only in the dead of night it was nigh useless. He'd use his gift to briefly light up the page, but doing so tired him out, and he needed to conserve his strength.

_Must stay alert…what if a band of bloodthirsty wolves leapt out from behind that crop of rocks over there?_ Jon thought tiredly, his eyelashes fluttering. _If wolves attacked me, I'd draw this dagger Saraiya gave me and kill them all. No bloody wolves would get me! I can't die, I've gotta see Alanna again…I wonder if she'll be ok…they 'd better take good care of her, I swear…I can't believe she won't wake up… she looked so peaceful…so, so beautiful…_

The next thing Jon knew, his rump was in the mud and his mount was staring at him plaintively, clearly amused. Did his horse just snicker at him? He could have sworn he heard laughter.

Jon cursed and brushed the dirt off his tunic, scowling furiously. Great, not only was he a fugitive on the run for his life, he was now a fugitive who had fallen asleep on his horse, fallen off, and ended up covered in stinky, dirty, muddy—oh my Mithros, the mud he had landed in wasn't mud at all! It was…horse dung.

"Yer gonna need a bath laddy," a voice called out form the darkness, ringing with the sound of suppressed laughter.

"What? Who's there!" Jon cried, whipping out his dagger awkwardly from the tangled folds of his cloak and spinning on the spot, in the process slipping in the dung to crash to the earth once more.

This time the disembodied howled in mirth, as Saraiya stepped lightly from the trees. She was clad in a simple but elegant riding robe, but even with the hood drawn Jon could tell it was her.

"What are _you_ doing here?" He scowled, sheathing his dagger and trying desperately to muster the tattered shreds of his dignity.

"Well after ye left I realized how hard it was ter find th' village, an' that you, bein' a stubborn man 'n all, would prolly get yer butt mighty lost. I can see I was right 'bout that...so anyway, I hitched me own mare an' followed ye."

"So, um, you saw me, er…" Jon stuttered, blushing furiously.

"Fall off yer horse? Aye, I witnessed it. My, my, such a big, strong, strapping knight! Look at him ride his horse like a pro!"

"Shut up!" Jon cried, looking affronted. Great, now he was being mocked! Just what he needed! She should just go back to the city, he didn't need her stupid help...

Saraiya rolled her eyes, "calm down laddy, can't ye take a joke? Just saddle back up, we have a long ride t' Little Wimpleton, an' it ain't gonna be very pleasant, specially wit' you stinkin' up th' place…"

They rode for a few more hours, only stopping when their horses needed a cool down or to use the woods as bathroom facilities. At times they were silent, each lost in their own myriad of thoughts, but then Jon would spot a large dewy spider web and point it out to his new riding companion, and she in turn would snort that spiders were hardly interesting, and they'd begin a long and animated discussion about insects and other strange creepy crawly things, and overall Jon actually found himself enjoying the ride, despite his rear end being covered in horse poop.

Dawn was creeping towards the horizon, and the village was still a few miles away, but when they cam upon a small stream, he couldn't resist the urge to leap off his horse and take a quick dip in the icy river to clean himself. Mirthros, Saraiya was right, he did smell!

"No looking!" He called over his shoulder, stripping down to his loincloth.

"As if I'd even want to," Saraiya muttered, though secretly she couldn't help gazing at his broad, muscular back from beneath her lowered lashes. T'was a shame he was all ready spoken for...that wet, white loincloth looked mighty full...

When he mounted up again, the two continued their journey. Saraiya explained that he'd be living with her aunt and uncle and two nieces, simple country farmers who preferred the modest comfort of living off the land to the rough and tumble excitement of the big city. They didn't exactly know what her chosen profession was—they thought she was a simple innkeeper—and she preferred to keep it that way. Jon readily agreed to keep her identity secret; it was the least he could do after all she had done for him.

In truth, he was grateful for the Lady Chief's help. He'd never admit it (for he was a stubborn proud knight of the realm), but he had gotten himself lost out there, and he needed her to show him the way. He thougt back on all the times she had helped him and all the things she had selflessly done for him…she had sheltered him when it was raining, cheered him up when he was depressed by his separation from Alanna, faithfully kept his secret about being a knight, and his squire's disguise as a boy, given him gold to buy a horse, slept with him (if you considered that a favor) when he was lonely, agreed not to kill him the next morning, helped him disguise himself as a noble and sneak into the Midwinter Ball, offered him refuge after he had fled the palace, clothed him when he was half-naked, fed him when he was half-starved, taken care of Alanna when—

"Hey, wait a minute, if you're here…who's taking care of Alanna?" Jon suddenly cried, his eyes wild with alarm. Mithros! Why hadn't he realized this before?

"Calm down lad," Saraiya snorted, rolling her eyes, "ye really think I'd just leave her there t' die in bed? Do ye honestly think I'm so cold-hearted? Mithros, I've got it taken care of, al'right?"

"Sorry," Jon murmured sheepishly, "but um, well, if you don't mind me asking, who…?"

"Rascal. He's lookin' out for her."

Jon's horse stopped dead in the road. "_Rascal?_ You mean, the clumsy boy who couldn't even perform a simple silencing spell when we were breaking into Lord Penikth's manor? _Rascal,_ the idiot who got so drunk at the after-party, he tried to swing from the cieling chandelier and landed in a batch of sheppard pies? _Rascal, _fool who got himself caught by the magistrate for bragging about the raid and ended up getting rotten fruit thrown at him all day in the stocks? _That_ Rascal?"

"Yep," Saraiya responded cheerfully. "That very one! By the way, there's still some horse dung behind yer ear."

Jon groaned. Could things possibly get any worse?

**…****Saphron…**

**

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	44. Chapter 44 Rascal's Brilliant Idea

**Homeward Bound: An Alternate Version of In the Hand of the Goddess**

**By Saphron**

_A/N:_ Ok, I APOLOGIZE in advance because this chapter is insanely boring, but it's necessary for plot set-up purposes. It's long (took me hours to write) but so very, very dry…I'm sorry to subject you guys to this, especially after the lackluster performance of the last few chapters, but alas, t'is necessary. Just, bare with me a bit longer, ok? There will be some majorly cool stuff (and by cool stuff I mean FLUFF, tehe) coming up shortly...I promise. Thanks guys…

Oh, also, I borrowed Sary's family life situation from a chick-flick beach-read book I just read called _Can You Keep a Secret?_, by Sophie Kinsella, just fyi. (No plagiarism lawsuits please!)

* * *

**Chapter 44 – Rascal's Brilliant Idea**

_Carthak, the countryside:_

The only tracks on that seldom used dusty trail to Little Wimpleton belonged to the two steady mares plowing diligently forward through the chilly end of January air. Jon and Saraiya had encountered little traffic on their short journey into the countryside, besides a few gypsies toothily advertising their wares and a lone journeyman on a quest for this or that enlightenment. The Lady Chief shrugged it off as an expected thing; the village of her birth was, after all, quite remote.

But despite the rather pleasant passing scenery, she had gotten increasingly moody as the sun set, until finally Jon demanded to know what was her problem.

"Saraiya, c'mon, what is it?" He pleaded, though she just shook her head obstinately. Did she ever wear anything but a scowl? He doubted it…

They were almost to the village and he still had yet to pry any intriguing information out of her, so he made one last-ditch desperate attempt, simply hoping for a reaction.

Jon looked at her askance and asked wearily, "let me guess, it's that time of month, isn't it?"

The look of death she shot at him sent shivers down his spine. Maybe that was a bad plan…

"_NO!_" She positively barked, "an' that's none o' yer business you tactless swine! It just so 'appens I 'aven't been home in a few years, s'all, an' I'm not exactly lookin' forward to it, Mithros."

"Why not?" Jon asked, genuinely curious.

"Because," she snorted mysteriously.

"Because why?" He pressed.

"Yer as annoyin' as a hungry gnat, did ye know that?" She muttered, wiping at the flies that dotted her horse's sweaty flanks.

"Yep," he chirped cheerfully, "But that still doesn't answer my question."

"Uch. It's just me cousins s'all, they drive me batty," she grumbled, brow furrowed in unpleasant memories. She had been so young when it happened…

"Why?" Jon asked, trying to keep the curiosity from tingeing his voice.

"Well…their mum, my auntie Virla, got trapped in a barn fire when they were just we little kids, an' their pop was already dead from th' consumption. So my family took 'em in, an' at first I was awfully excited cuz I thought it'd be like havin' two new sisters ter play wit' all 'o th' time."

"So…what happened?" Jon asked softly.

Saraiya shrugged, feigning nonchalance (though not very well). "My 'rents adored 'em. Well, mostly Astra, but still. They gave all their attention to 'em cuz they were poor 'n orphaned 'n cuter then me. Both o' 'em are blond as honey, an' next ter me, wit' my dark tanned features…well, they just loved them more, s'all" she concluded simply.

"Oh now, I'm sure that's not true…" Jon began, but petered off when he saw the crestfallen look on his riding companion's face. The hard mask she wore had cracked, and he saw a rare glimpse of her true feelings.

"Aye, t'is true alright," she murmured with melancholy, a mixture of sadness and bitterness, "T'was always 'be nice ter Astra 'n Glynis Sary, why don't ye give yer bread ter Astra 'n Glynis Sary? Don't eat that cake Sary, it's for yer cousins. They're getting' yer bed Sary, ye can sleep on th' mattress on th' floor.' All me life, t'was like that, till I just could'na take it anymore an' I fled for th' big city."

"Wow," Jon gulped, at a loss for what to say. "I'm sorry Saraiya, that sounds…horrible."

The tough girl exterior suddenly returned almost as quickly as it had been dropped, and with a grunt Saraiya kicked her horse into a thunderous gallop, yelling over her shoulder, "c'mon laddy, let's make it there afore noon! I'm hungry 'nough to eat a cow 'n then some!"

* * *

_Carthak, the city, Sandlot Inn: _

Rascal sat languidly by Alanna's bed, idly tossing a ball tied to a string attached to a little wooden cone. It was a child's toy he had picked up accidentally on his last raid and capriciously decided to keep, but after an hour of endlessly catching the "ice cream" in its proper container he was bored beyond measure of it. Just like he was bored of this stupid job looking after this stupid random girl Saraiya had assigned to him.

She had gone out of town for a few days to visit her family in one of the villages to the west, leaving the big, burly Marlom in charge of the Brotherhood. Personally, Rascal resented this choice, for he extremely detested Marlom's rough "take it or leave it" leadership attitude, but what could he do? Marlom was thirty-three and he was…well, he wasn't sure how old we was, but definitely no where close to thirty.

Not that age meant everything. Just look at Saraiya, she was barely more than nineteen!

But then again, Saraiya was also one of the most skilled thieves in the entire southern hemisphere. She was less well-known for one that merited her station, but that was primarily due to people's ignorance in believing a woman could achieve the position of "Chief" of the Brotherhood of Arabian Knights.

They were fools though. Saraiya was silent as a creeping cat and twice as deadly with a knife, as anyone who dared crossed her soon found out. More than all his heart, Rascal wanted to be just like her. Some might laugh for wanting to be like a woman, but he completely admired—almost worshiped—the strong, dominant female type. When he had first arrived at the door of the Brotherhood he had quickly developed a bit of a juvenile crush on his fearless leader, which quickly subsided when he realized he didn't have a snowball's chance in the desert, but still. He liked it when girls were straight-forward and brave…it just confused him when chicks battered their eyelashes and simpered and giggled. What was _up_ with that? The constant giggling—was that really necessary?

His chair tipped forward from where he had been precariously leaning back, knocking him out of his idle musings. He glanced once more at the bed, but there was—unsurprisingly—no change.

The skinny, red-haired girl still lay fast asleep. She had been this way for three days now, with still no sign of change. Her heart rate remained strong and there was plenty of color in her cheeks…she just didn't want to wake up. But other than that she seemed perfectly fine.

It had been a challenge trying to make sure she didn't die of starvation or thirst while she was asleep. Saraiya had left him a small green bottle of sludge that smelled disgusting to him, but which she claimed would give Alanna the vitamins and nutrients she needed whilst she was unconscious. It took longer than he had expected, but Rascal finally managed to figure out how to get it in her mouth without spilling it all over the bed sheets by propping her up on his shoulder. Other than that, all he had to do was change the sheets, keep the windows open, and watch her sleep.

After one such feeding, he wrinkled his nose distastefully and started ranting aloud to himself, a fierce tirade of indigent words.

He was a real thief, not some stupid lackey who could be ordered about! He should be out and about stealing from nobles and getting in all sorts of trouble, but instead Saraiya had assigned him to nurse duty. Sure, the last time he tried to nab something he nearly got caught, but that wasn't _his _fault…the sunlight had gotten in his eyes…really, it could happen to anyone…

She just gave him this job because she thought there was no way he could muck it up. All he had to do was feed her and make sure she didn't die. If anything looked amiss, he was to get the healer across the street immediately. Otherwise, he was left to stew by her bed, bored of his mind.

After another dreary hour had passed (most of which the young thief had spent fast asleep, drooling unattractively), Rascal had the epiphany to use his Gift to make his toy more interesting. And specifically, more edible. Sweat beaded on his brow and for a moment Rascal though it wouldn't work, but then the fake ice cream cone became real and he happily munched it down. Only when he had devoured the sumptuous dessert (a favorite in the warm Carthaki climate), did he realize he was left with nothing but sticky fingers and no toy…

And, another brilliant idea.

Sure, Saraiya had instructed him not to do anything stupid…but this wasn't exactly stupid, was it? In fact, quite the opposite—it was positively inspired! She had said not to do anything but feed, keep warm, and take care of Alanna. Well…wasn't this 'taking care of' her, in a way?

Yes. Yes, it most certainly was, he decided.

After all, if he could change a children's toy into ice cream with his Gift, how hard could rousing a girl out of her coma with a little magic be?

Exactly.

* * *

_Carthak, the countryside: _

When the two riders arrived at the quiet hamlet, Jon was surprised to see a small gathering of bright-eyed children awaiting them.

"We don' get many visitors 'ere," Saraiya whispered in way of explanation. Already the crowds were forming. Women had thrown open their window shutters, and men sat perched in chairs outside their homes watching them ride down the central road.

Jon felt the back of his neck prickle uneasily. The entire town was dreadfully quiet. It should have been peaceful, but instead the Tortallan just found it eerie. The reins grew sweaty in his hands—what he wouldn't give to be back in the city with Alanna right now, drinking with the thieves and blending inconspicuously into the background. Normally he liked being the center of attention—he had to, if he were to be King one day—but this was a little much.

"Here we are," Saraiya grunted, dismounting from her horse. "Home sweet home…"

They were standing in front of a quaint but rather well-constructed house at the end of the central road, across the street from the small white church by which everything in the village revolved around. A smaller gate surrounded the dwelling, which was larger than the nearby houses but of course small by Jon's standards, and in the back of the house there was nothing but endless stretches of field, a big red barn, and a small woody forest.

All at once Saraiya's family tumbled out of the abode, starting a rousing chorus of "hellos!" and "Sary pet, what in Mithros' name are you _doing_ here?"

A thin, almost waif-like man flittered out of the house and perched on the front step, beaming shyly at his prodigal daughter. His wife, a larger woman with a sharp nose but distinctly maternal air, blushed furiously when Jon bowed low and pecked her supple hand as Saraiya introduced him. The two girl cousins, one a thin, green-eyed blond of seventeen or so with looks that drove the boys in town crazy, the other a small, somewhat round but in a comely way, auburn-haired girl-child of twelve, each looked equally dazzled by Jon's strikingly good looks. Even with his hair dyed, the Tortallan's pale skin and deep sapphire blue eyes made him not just a rarity in the tiny village, but a treasure.

"This is Mum, Pop, Astra, 'n Glynis," Saraiya directed towards Jon, pointing out each family member in turn. "Mum, Pop, this is Johnny-boy, he's a city lad friend 'o a mine an' I was hopin' he could stay wit' you for o' bit," Saraiya mumbled dolefully by way of introduction. She just wanted to turn around and leave, but she knew it'd be obligatory for her to stay the night, unless she never wanted to hear the end of it from her mother. But the sooner she got this whole ordeal over with the better! Then she could return to her men, and life would go back to normal.

"Oh, but of course!" Chirped her mother, squeaking with eagerness to be a good host, "any friend of Sary's is welcome here! I was just getting supper together, why don't we all go inside…those dreadful Puetershnitt's are watching us through their bay window, the noisy old hags…er, right, but what precisely brings you to Little Wimpleton Jonathan, if you don't mind me asking? We're not exactly a big tourist spot."

"Er—" he stuttered blankly. How _was_ he supposed to explain his presence exactly? He couldn't actually admit he was wanted throughout the land for murder of the kingdom's top mage, but thanks so very much for letting him stay anyway, he'd like two sugars in his morning tea please…

"Business," Saraiya grunted, looking weary. The day was only halfway over and all ready she was taxed. Even her old smelly mattress on the floor looked tempting right now...

"Oh?" Her mother simpered, "what business are you in darling?"

"Um…" Jon responded, wiping a thing line of sweat off the back of his neck.

"He's a…merchant," Saraiya intervened quickly, "an' he's looking to expand his trade into th' countryside an' wants ter do some research on a typical little village, havin' grown up in th' city all his life. Right Johnny?"

"Eh, yes, merchant. City, whole life. Quite right. Research, need. Um, shouldn't I see to the horses?" Jon pitched desperately, anxious to escape the older woman's piercing gaze. Her beady eyes missed nothing!

"Oh no need, Pop's all ready stabled them," she replied airily, setting her soup pot on the kitchen table. True to her words, Saraiya's father came shuffling in a moment later, brushing a bit of hay off his shoulder. Jon hadn't even noticed him leave. "What kind of merchant are you dear?"

"Mum! Enough questions! Can't ye see we're beat?" Saraiya whined, settling heavily into a chair. Her two cousins, who had remained quiet the entire time, too lost for words to speak, followed suit.

"I was just curious," Saraiya's mother sniffed, ladling the stew into six different bowls.

"Mm, this smells delicious!" Jon said graciously, eager to diffuse the tension in the room. His rouse worked; Saraiya's mother glowed pink at the compliment, and the conversation quickly turned.

"Oh," she trilled, "it's nothing really! Just a bit o' potatoes, some corn, simple to make really."

"Well, it looks great," Jon smiled. He next turned his curious gaze on the two infamous cousins Saraiya had told him about. They were quiet, but seemed perfectly sweet. Maybe she had just been exaggerating…everyone had issues with their parents, it was perfectly normal really. Mithros knew Jon had had his fair share of rows with his parents, typically over "his duty as heir to the kingdom, etc. etc."

The older one, Astra, was the first to speak to him. Long lashes flickered over her big green eyes as she sipped her soup and said across the table, "our town is small, but quite pleasant in its own way. I do hope you enjoy it here."

"Thank you," Jon smiled, "I'm sure I will."

Not to be outdone, the younger girl quickly interrupted her elder sibling, "say, why is your skin so light? Don't you ever go outside?"

"Glynis!" Her aunt scolded, looking affronted. The girl pouted in surprise—she was rarely yelled at.

"It's ok," Jon laughed, his eyes crinkling with genuine mirth, "I actually come from the north, from a far away land called Tortall," he directed at the child. She cocked her head in confusion, so Jon elaborated, a teasing tone ringing his voice. "I'm afraid we don't get as much sun as all of you down in Carthak," he winked.

She blushed and turned red-faced back to her stew, though she spent the rest of the meal noticeably glancing at him through her fluttering eyelashes.

By the time the soup was finished, Jon had answered no less than a hundred questions about what life was like "up north," as the girls fondly called his homeland. (He neglected to mention anything about knight training or being a prince, instead focusing on such mundane matters as the merchants' tables in the capital city.) He was a fairly patient man, especially when it came to answering the eager questions of small children, but the barrage of inquiries was rather taxing. The freckled-nose twelve-year-old's thirst for knowledge was simply insatiable!

Saraiya rescued him by claiming he needed to go "in town" (in other words, down the block to the corner store) to buy some "merchant supplies," for which Jon was endlessly grateful. On the way they talked lightly, each too tired to carry much of a conversation.

"Is your family always so…inquisitive?" Jon asked, yawning broadly.

Saraiya shrugged. "Yer a novelty. Yer new. Excpect a few questions," she bristled, overly defensive considering she claimed to dislike her family so strongly.

"Oh, yeah, I know, it's fine," Jon said quickly, "I was just wondering. So…you staying the night?"

She nodded, then added, "Just ter make sure you settle 'n all right. Don't say anything stupid an…watch out for Astra, she's mighty manipulative."

"What?" Jon said, raising his eyebrows, "she seemed perfectly nice to me—"

"That's cuz ye don' know her," Saraiya scowled. "Just, be careful, ok? She always gets what she wants, no matter what, and nothing an' nobody can stop her."

"Um, ok," Jon acquiesced, shrugging. "So…what's to do 'round here?"

"Cow-tipping," Saraiya answered breezily.

"What's that?" the city boy asked curiously.

Saraiya laughed for the first time that day, "eh, I reckon you'll find our soon enough."

* * *

_Carthak, the city, Sandlot Inn:_

Rascal rolled up his sleeves and placed his hands lightly on Alanna's temples. He stuck his tongue out of the corner of his mouth, squinted his eyes tightly, and called on the magic within him. It didn't always come when he called, but today he was lucky. A frolicsome yellow-orange light danced around his forearms and tipped into his fingertips. See, this wasn't so hard! Saraiya always told him that the Gift was potentially dangerous, he needed to be careful with it, it could get out of hand, bla la bla…but here the spell was working perfectly fine. He could feel the magic pour out of him and into the sleeping girl; he saw her mind, a glowing aura of vibrant purple, and reached out for it with his tendrils of playful fiery magic.

All was going smoothly until suddenly the gentle flame leaped out of his control and enveloped the purple sphere in front of it, turning into a raginginerno. Rascal felt the familiar sensation of panic—a feeling he was quite used to by now, after having mucked up his misadventures stealing so often—as sweat beaded heavily on his brow. His face scrunched tighter as he scrambled to retract the crazily swirling flames that licked at the girl's essence. Finally he managed to recover his lost magic, sighing noticeably in relief. The purple light glowed as brightly as ever...no harm done.

He pulled his gift out of her and sat back blinking. Dark spots danced in front of his face but he shook his head to clear them. When his vision returned, the first thing he noticed was Alanna—wide-eyed and awake. Success! His plan had worked! Oh, Saraiya would be so happy with him!

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" she screamed, startling him out of his happy celebration.

"AHHHHHHHH!" He screamed right back, simply caught by the surprise. "Mithros Alanna, you scared me!"

"Huh?" She looked at him, totally blank. "W-where am I?"

"In th' Sandlot Inn," Rascal replied cheerfully, placing a hand on his rapidly beating heart. Man, the girl had lungs like an ox…he couldn't remember ever hearing a lass scream so loudly before…

"Wh-who are you?" she asked, completely dazed and slightly scared.

Rascal rolled his eyes, "ye mean you don't remember me 'lanna? Why I'm hurt! Ah well, I s'pose ye were unconscious at the time…" he teased, laughing in his chipper way, "never-mind that now though, I'm Rascal, one o' Saraiya's men. She put me in charge of lookin' after ye cuz she knew I was th' only one qualified ter do th' job right," he boasted proudly, puffing up his chest.

Alanna just blinked. "Saraiya?"

Rascal frowned, "y'know, th' Lady Chief? Well, maybe ye don't. After Jon fled th' palace wit' ye in his arms he took ye 'ere. You've been out like a light sleepin' for three days 'Lanna! Gave us quite a scare, ye did. Anyway, Jon rode on wit' th' Chief t' her home village, seein' as there's a price on his head an' th' Emperor's men are looking for him 'n al. But don' worry, I'm sure ye can catch up wit' 'm tomorrow, no prob."

"Um, whose Jon?" Alanna wondered, totally lost. "And why was he carrying me from some palace?"

Rascal started, blinking rapidly, before a slow grin broke out on his impish features. "Ah ha-ha, very funny lass!" Rascal roared in mirth, "ye almost got me 'Lanna!"

"What?" Alanna asked, adding more forcefully "_what_ is going on here? Why am I in this bed…who is this Jon person…and why do you keep calling me ''Lanna'?"

"Oh, gods," Rascal whispered wide-eyed, finally realizing what was going on, "ye mean ye don' remember nuttin' 'bout yerself? Oh Mithros, Saraiya is gonna _kill_ me…"

**…****Saphron…**

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_A/N_: Well, I hope the surprise ending makes up for the rest of the rather lackluster chapter…unrequited love, near rape, comas and amnesia, is this like a soap opera or what? Hehehe. –wanders off laughing to myself-

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	45. Chap 45 A Series of Not So Random Events

**Homeward Bound An Alternate Version of In the Hand of the Goddess**

**By Saphron**

_A/N:_ Thanks to everyone who told me the proper way to cite second PS's, AND for encouraging me that the last few chapters weren't that boring after all, lol. Alas, one more chapter of set-up, then we'll start getting into a bit more action. Tata.

* * *

**Chapter 45 – A Series of Not So Random Events**

_Tortall_:

"So how many people on the guest list so far?" Raoul asked his fellow conspirators, frowning worriedly when he heard their not-so-good reply.

"Er, 'bout thirty or so," Stephan mumbled sheepishly, not daring to look at their fearless leader.

Raoul rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hand, trying to contain a strangled groan. How could publicity be so bad that they only had thirty guests RSVP? And to think, this was only the first of many problems! Cookie and Minnie had no difficulty planning the menu, the only problem was the cost of the food supplies and the little issue of where to cook everything… Lady Ameeth too had presented a list of demands for decorations supplies that extended to the floor, and Raoul had had to explain patiently, several times, that it just wasn't in their budget to hire a "troupe of exotic Carthaki belly dancers" or make a "giant ice sculpture in the shape of an orphan's head." What did an orpha's head even look like? Raoul didn't want to know. He just wanted this party to go smoothly, but so far it didn't seem likely to happen.

If he couldn't make this work, they didn't stand a chance. Bribing the guards was the only way to free Gary, they had exhausted all other possibilities. And to make matters worse, for some reason George's messenger birds had returned to them with parchments still attached, and Raoul had had no contact with his imprisoned friend in a week. It was totally bizarre, not to mention completely unexpected. He knew Gary got the first letter from the fact that the first pigeon (George's favorite flier, the one he named Alanna) had made it back safely with a quick return note penned in Gary's hand (or at least, what looked like Gary's hand) that said: "Excellent! You're amazing Raoul, keep up the good work. But I think this pigeon communication plan is too risky. Best try something else. –G."

That in itself was weird enough…the messenger pigeons worked great, Raoul had no idea what Gary could have against them…could the note possibly be forged? But by who? And if it was a fake, then that must mean Roger knew about them…but that wasn't possible, the only way Roger could know about R.E.B.E.L. would be if someone from the order directly told him, and no member would do that. They were all loyal to the cause, of that much he was sure.

Well, except possibly Alex. Myles had had reservations about Alex for ages…but they had grown up together as pages, surely he'd never betray them…

No, he must just be acting paranoid, Raoul thought to himself, crumpling up the elaborate decorations list Lady Ameetha had handed him. And he didn't have time for paranoia—he had to get to work.

* * *

_Carthak, the palace:_

"What do you _mean_ you can't make it work?" The Emperor seethed, throwing a furious scowl at the trembling mage before him. "What is this nonsense about a secret mind key that only the maker knows about?"

"W-well, l-like I s-s-said y-your majesty, Lord Oppenheimer m-made it so only h-he can operate it. It's r-really a very c-complicated magical s-s-spell, rarely used in the r-real world because it takes h-human b-blood to s-s-seal the s-s-secrets of an object inside, b-but there you go. Unless he sh-sh-showed s-s-someone else h-how to access the c-core of the Gadget, I'm afraid it's r-rather useless," Hamilton the mage stuttered fearfully, twirling his new bowler cap between two quivery hands. He had just bought it yesterday as a reward to himself for still being alive despite the Emperor's fury…though he didn't know how long his life would last now. Oh, but curse that Lord Oppenheimer! First he took his job as the University Head Master, and now even from the grave he was making his life complicated. All he wanted was his old post back, but no…

"But that's, that's preposterous! It can't be so! Surely there's some other way?" The Emperor yelled, pacing his chambers angrily and randomly shoving objects of his choice of the desk and bookshelves.

Hamilton sadly shook his head. Believe him, he had tried. Oh how he had tried. He had known that if only he could get the mage's ball to work, the Emperor would surely reward him by restoring his prestigious position at the University. But he had little luck, just as expected. The magic was deeply rooted in ancient lore, and there was no way anyone but the original creator could use the thing.

The Emperor let out one last roar of fury and the mage fled the room, half-expecting a sword to slice through his retreating shoulder blades at any moment. Once he was safely out the door, he heard the Emperor fall to the floor sobbing. It did not sound promising.

Oh dear, oh dear oh dear oh dear. This was not good, not good at all. If the Emperor was unhappy, he'd be sure to make everyone else around him equally as unhappy…

Hamilton feared for the whole of Carthak, and not even his new shiny black bowler cap could cheer him up.

* * *

_Carthak, the city_: 

Chartres frowned sullenly, kicking a pebble with the corner of his boot. He was walking ahead of a troop of the Emperor's royal guards, on his way to the next establishment on the street. His job as the royal greeter had been converted into the job of royal announcer, and it was his duty to enter each dwelling and proclaim the standard prompt:

"Hear ye, hear ye, by royal decree of his majesty the Emperor, we will be searching the property for the presence of one Jonathan of Tortall, the most wanted criminal in the land. Be forewarned that any interference with the letter of the aw may result in injury or death—so don't get in the soldier's way. Good day"

He was on the hundredth house that morning and all ready he was sick of the stupid announcement. It was all that Phantom Man's fault! After the maniac had torn through the palace and completely killed the mood (which Chartres was still bitter about, he totally would have gotten laid if that chambermaid hadn't gotten so spooked), he had bitterly left the palace and gone into the city to get drunk and hire a girl for the night. The next morning he was rudely yanked out of his bed, called before the Emperor, and instructed to describe everything he could about the Phantom Man. He had done the best he could, and all his information resembled Loloya's, so the Emperor had assigned him herald duty. That way, if the fugitive happened to be harbored in someone's house, he could recognize him and point him out to the guards, who only had a rough sketch of the man. It's not like Chartres had a choice—it was either this or risk angering the wrath of the unforgiving Emperor. And eh didn't favor becoming a eunuch any time soon.

Chartres sighed, opening the door to yet another house for the umpteenth time. Good thing an inn was coming up next, he would need a few stiff drinks if he were to get through the rest of the day.

* * *

_Carthak, the village of Little Wimpleton:_

"Well Mum, I'll be riding out now…" Saraiya called awkwardly after swinging her last saddlebag on her mare. A bit of sunshine poked through the clouds, just enough to warm the tips of her exposed fingers as she rode back to the city. It had been a long, restless night, despite yesterday's exhaustion, and she was eager to return to the only real home she had ever known.

"Ok pet, have a good tri—oh Astra! That dress is simply beautiful!" Her mother gasped, as Astra came floating down the stairs in a light salmon pink chiffon dress. The blond girl beamed, fluttering her long-lashes and smiling serenely.

"Do you like it? I thought I'd wear it for church this morning…"

"Oh, it's simply divine! Every girl will be envious!"

Saraiya snorted and rolled her eyes. Typical. She hadn't even left yet, and all ready they had forgotten about her. Stupid Astra.

Jon, noticing his friend's hurt eyes, left the group clustered around the cousin and approached Saraiya on her horse.

"Be safe," Jon warned her, placing a protective hand on her knee. She looked down her nose at him from her high saddle but a grin that pouted on her lips defied her exasperated expression.

"I should be tellin' that ter ye laddy," she snickered.

"Oh how I _wish_ you wouldn't use such crass language dear…" Saraiya's mom interjected, still clutching the hem of Astra's outfit. "It's so, so _crude_, that accent of yours. All that "ye" and "ter" and dropping the g's on everything…tsk…."

Saraiya's strangled facial expression made it clear they had had this argument multiple times before. Jon shuffled his feet awkwardly…were all common families this dysfunctional?

"Well, I should get going…" the Lady Chief said through gritted teeth, "seeya in a few…never, if I can at all possibly help it."

"Oh wait! You can't leave yet Sary, your cousin's birthday is next Sunday! You should stay."

"Oh," Saraiya grimaced, "I forgot 'bout that. But I'm sure Astra don' need me there…"

"Sary! How can you say that? Are you _trying_ to hurt your cousin's feelings?"

Saraiya looked defeated. "Eh, no, 'course not mum, ye know I was just kiddin.' I'll stay, I'll stay."

"Good, it's time for brunch. Gather round children."

The table was stuffed with people but even more stuffed with food. Jon idly wondered why everyone in the family wasn't morbidly obese.

"So Jon dear…" Saraiya's mother began, nonchalantly spooning her peas, "I hope you don't mind an old curious woman asking, but are you my Sary's…beau? Is that what the kids are calling it these days? Or wait, is the proper word 'lover'?"

"MUM!" Saraiya shrieked loudly, mortified by her mother's accusations and attempts to use colloquial jargon.

"What?" She blinked, "I was just asking…after all, you _are _getting on in years y'know dear, and I really think it'd be good for you to settle down with a nice man and raise a family, especially a man who could support you…like a merchant…"

Jon blushed crimson and coughed to cover his embarrassment. "Er, no," he muttered, "Saraiya and I are just friends. We don't have any sort of plans to, er, do anything of that, um, sort."

Her mother shook her head and tsked. "Tsk, ah, well, you say that now…"

"Mum, I'm all ready uh, seeing someone, in th' city, right," Saraiya muttered, desperate to get off the topic of her and Jon. That was so not a road she wanted to go down, not here, not now.

"Oh you are!" her mother trilled, "How lovely! You've finally learned how to snag a man, just like Astra. What's his name dear?"

"Er—Rascal. Eh, yes, that's it."

Her mother scrunched her nose, "well, I don't know what kind of name that is…but if he's rich, than that's fine. Oh look, the pie is done! Who likes peach cobbler? I baked it just for Astra, it's her favorite!"

* * *

_Carthak, the Sandlot Inn:_

"So, the name 'Jon' don't mean nuttin' to ye lass?" Rascal asked, worrying his bottom lip with his overbite. "Y'know, tall, blue yes, dark hair, well now t'is blond but it used t' be black as night."

"I already told you, _no_," Alanna replied, getting increasingly agitated. She had been holed up in this room in the inn for three days now, still with no idea about who she was or what she was doing here. The funny boy with messy hair, Rascal, had told her to stay here and not wander off around the city, and the only reason she listened to him was because he was the only one who seemed to know the slightest thing about her. When she defied his orders two days ago and went downstairs, a chorus of gruff, heavily muscled men hallooed her welcome, but they all looked so scary she dashed back upstairs again to hide. She was no coward, but there was no sense in messing with men twice your size if you could help it.

After that experience, she simply waited in her bedroom, getting meals served to her by that Rascal fellow and spending the rest of the day idly trying to piece her life back together. Rascal kept quizzing her and presenting her with endless details and knowledge, none of which meant anything to her. Her personality remained the same—she was just as fiery and hot-tempered as ever, even more considering her frustration from the memory loss—but she didn't recall growing up in Tortall, the tall man Rascal kept referring to as Jon, or even her own god-given name.

Nonetheless, Rascal seemed like a decent enough fellow (if a bit clumsy and rather roguish), and she had no reason to doubt his trustworthiness, other than the fact that he was a complete stranger. So if he said her name was Alanna, well, then, she guessed it must be Alanna…pretty name really, shame it didn't mean anything to her…

It had taken awhile for her to understand that her memory was gone. On some subconscious level she knew, but it still took Rascal hours to explain that he had accidentally mucked up a spell intended to cure her out of a coma, and inadvertently wiped out her memory in the process. Apparently such a thing was called "retrograde amnesia," and she had it in plenty. Rascal consulted a renowned healer across the street, who examined her, shook his bearded head, shrugged his shaggy shoulders and suggested she gets lots of sleep. Sleep! As if that would cure her!

But at least the healer had said he had seen this sort of thing before. Granted, it was rare, but not entirely uncommon. According to the expert, patients usually began recovering older memories first, then newer memories, and possibly the memories closet to the accident, but those were questionable. In a few extreme cases, amnesias never recovered any of their memory, and had to rebuild their life from scratch. But the doctor patted her on the shoulder and (not very convincingly) suggested that probably wouldn't happen to her.

Alanna simply buried her head in her hands when she heard such an awful possibility and prayed. She didn't _want_ to rebuild her life again, she wanted her old life! She just wanted to know who she was and where she belonged damn it!

After a few more hours of killing time in her bedroom, mostly spent exercising her sore bed-ridden muscles, she grew tired of Rascal's constant pacing. He kept muttering about some Saraiya woman who apparently was going to kill him.

_Well, serves him right for causing my amnesia_, Alanna thought bitterly, glaring at him over her morning cup of coffee. Strange, the taste seemed almost familiar to her…or at least, she knew she liked it, something in her gut just told her that. But everything else…it was all a mysterious fog.

Draining the last dregs of her coffee, Alanna put down the cup and decidedly stood up. Rascal had just left on some errand or another, and she was free to do what she liked, thank you very much. Sure the men downstairs looked scary…but with renewed confidence Alanna suddenly felt braver than she had all week. She knew that her muscles were toned and taught, and for some reason picking up the shaft of a smooth broom handle in the corner felt perfectly natural to her, as if she had held such an object in her tight grip before. Strangers or no, she was going downstairs. She wanted to get out of this cursed room and start retrieving her memory!

"Good mornin' sunshine," a burly man greeted her as she trotted down the stairs. "Why don' ye pull up a chair lass, tell us 'bout yer troubles?"

"We hear ye lost yer memory, eh?" Chimed his friend, pouring a mug of bubbling caramel-colored liquid into a large glass mug. "By the Hag, that's some harsh luck, t'is."

After steeling herself with a deep breath, Alanna trotted over to a bar stool and took a seat. She glanced shyly at the two men lounging around the inn common room. They looked like riffraff, all dirty and bare-shouldered, but oddly enough they seemed nice, and almost familiar. Alanna had the strangest sensation that she used to sit somewhere just like this…maybe not here exactly, but somewhere _like_ here…in an inn, with these sort of people…

"Drinkin' so early mate?" Grinned another man, approaching from the swinging kitchen doors. "Aye, what th' hell, pour me a cuppa too will ye."

"Right on. Ye want a mug lass?" This last question was directed her way.

Alanna looked startled. Were they talking to her? So far she had only mustered enough courage to sit by them, not to actually speak to them…but now seemed like as good a time as ever.

"Er, sure," she muttered, eager to fit in with the men.

"I'm Rooster 'n this 'ere is Whiskers—" said the first man, pointing with his thumb, "th' last fellow over there is Silver. Obviously, these nicknames all 'ave a right long story behind 'em, which we shall save fer another day. But what about ye lass, what's yer story?"

"I, I don't know," she said ruefully, frowning into her drink. What was this strange smelling liquid? Gingerly she took a sip—and quickly spat it back out again! Mithros, it tasted terrible!

The men positively roared with laughter, which caused her to blush furiously. Two spots of color danced on her cheeks and her violet eyes flashed darkly.

"Why lookee 'ere, th' lass can't handle her drink! Not even one wee little sip!" Rooster chortled, slamming back another glass of pumpkin ale with a quick smack of his lips.

"For your information, I could drink you under the table!" Alanna snorted, glaring at him heatedly. She wasn't sure where that particular expression came from, but it just seemed to fit the situation.

"Is that a challenge?" Rooster asked, quirking an eyebrow. "Cuz I'm all ready 'bout three drinks ahead of ye…but seein' as yer so tiny, I say we call it even an' start wit' th' next drink. Th' first one ter stop is a rotten egg!"

Alanna thought for a moment, a vague sense of unease tugging at her gut. But all the men seemed to be staring at her intently, waiting to see if she'd take the bait, and if Alanna had one thing in plenty, it was stubborn pride.

"Well, guess your wife's gonna complain tonight. Rotten eggs stink up the bed!"

**...Saphron…**

**

* * *

**  
_A/N_: Oh, and I forgot to say this last time, but Astra means "star," which is appropriate because she's the star of the family, and "Glynis" means little, which again, is deliberate, seeing as she's the youngest child. Just in case you guys were interested in any naming significance :)


	46. Ch46 Jon Gets Jumped & Alanna Gets Drunk

**Homeward Bound: The Alternate Version of In the Hand of the Goddess**

**By Saphron**

_A/N:_ In the original plot plan, I dragged the whole farm life thing on for several chapters, but now I've decided it's not really worth it. It's rather irrelevant to the overall plot and you guys are probably sick of girls throwing themselves at our favorite Prince, but I couldn't resist one last hurrah before I couple Jon and Alanna up for some major fluffdom. Ah well, if I ever write a sequel maybe it can include some of Sary's home-life. You guys seem to like her as a character well enough (I know I do. Out of all my extra characters here, she's definitely my fave, even more than Rascal, a close second. I just like the Carthaki thieves in general, lol.) Hopefully this chapter will be a little more interesting! (It's a long one). I'm glad some of you guys didn't find the last chapters boring though by the way, that's fab :)

_PS:_ I watched _Brokeback Mountain_ write before I wrote the Jon scene (good movie! Sad and slow but still very intelligent and beautiful) so that's what inspired the whole 'cowboy' theme, lol. And as for Alanna's scene…well my friend (who shall remain nameless) got completely wasted last night when we were out clubbing (ah the evils of alcohol! I'm not saying don't do it, just don't do it to the point of excess…or mix your liqueurs. A water bottle of Yeager, shots of tequila, rum, and cheap vodka? BAD idea, lol. Also, always remember: "liquor before beer, you're in the clear…beer before liquor, never been sicker." Words to live by darlings, words to live by), tried to cross a "do not cross" roped off zone, fell (literally) flat on her face, and broke her nose. Blood gushed everywhere, it was awful. We got her into the bathroom to clean her up, and half an hour later…she puked her guts out. On my lap. On ME. Oh, my, god. SO GROSS. I was stroking her back taking care of her murmuring it will be ok and then…there was something warm and sticky on my leg…euch. So. Lol. Watch your friends when you go out and party! Anyway. Inspiration from this story comes form real life, haha… :-D

* * *

**Chapter 46 – Jon Gets Jumped and Alanna Gets Drunk**

_"Alcohol is the cause and the solution to many of life's problems."_

-- Dan Castellaneta

* * *

_Carthak, the village of Little Wimpleton:_

Jon spent the next few days offering to help out Saraiya's family with the farm chores, eager to earn his keep. As a Prince, he had never had to milk a cow, collect chicken eggs, or plow the fields, but he valued the experience of living a day in the life of an average farmer. The work was hard; he had to get up at dawn, sweat all day behind a large hulking draft horse, and not stop until the sun had set the world into quiet darkness, but he knew he'd be richer for the experience. Besides, there was something rather peaceful about sleeping on a straw mattress in a loft in the barn, watching the stars twinkle outside his window at night.

Saraiya's family was spectacularly nice to him. Her mother doted on him like his more reserved queenly mother never did, insisting on feeding him at every possible occasion and coddling him like a small child. Her father, a quiet, reserved type of fellow, mostly just nodded to him when it was time to feed the pigs, but every now and then when they'd be riding their horses to herd the sheep along a sunlit grassy knoll, the older man would light his tobacco pipe and comment on the crops this year, and the two would talk agricultural politics. Never had Jon thought those endless meetings he had been forced to attend about wheat yields would actually be useful for something.

Both cousins certainly seemed to like him as well. The younger girl found him absolutely fascinating, and although at times she was petulant and whiny, overall he didn't mind her constant demands for a "piggy back ride" or a detailed description of Tortallan candy.

Astra was equally smitten with him, albeit more subtly. It appeared that although Saraiya and her younger cousin were as opposite as night and day, they did have one thing in common—their taste in men.

Astra was a flirt. She was gorgeous—and she knew it. Every day he spotted her giggling over the communal town water trough with Tom Somebody, flicking her hair and teasing lightly. Jon was still surprised, however, when she turned her charms on him.

The conversation began later that night, when Jon was finishing up his barn chores.

"So are you and Sary _really_ are nothing more than friends?" The girl asked, eyes wide and lips pressed. She was leaning against one of the barn walls, staring at him intently.

Jon nodded enthusiastically in affirmation, shouldering a bale of hay over a fence with a grunt. Mithros this farm work was hard! He used to have dreams about riding off into the sunset as a lone cowboy, but after a week of horse dung and cow breath, he knew the vocation wasn't for him.

"And you're not taken by anyone else? Surely that can't be, a handsome man like you!" The girl flirted coyly, twirling a strand of honey-blond hair with her index finger.

"Um—" Jon hesitated, thoughts of Alanna flashing through his mind. Where _did_ they stand, exactly? Certainly more than friends, if that passionate make-out session in the palace gardens on Midwinter night was any proof. But were they…in a relationship? The whole coma thing kind of made it hard to tell, seeing as he couldn't exactly ask her. Nonetheless, they definitely weren't just knight-master and squire anymore…

Finally Jon settled on a simple shrug. He didn't know why Astra was asking him these questions, though he was starting to suspect something was up….

"I'll take that as a 'no'," she said with a wink and a laugh. "You know…supper won't be ready for another hour, and this barn is completely empty, 'sides for the likes of you and me…"

Jon glanced at her askance. Was she implying what he thought she was implying? Her eyes look starved and a lascivious grin lapped at her lips. But no, it couldn't be, he was just letting his imagination run away from him…she was just a simple country lass, barely seventeen. Granted, the village was remote and contained a population of less than a hundred, so when you factored the fact that roughly half the citizens weren't male, and only half of those were young adults, and only half of those would be within her narrow age range for dating, and probably only a select few of those she would find attractive…so ok, she was most likely a little desperate for some action, but she appeared to be a perfectly sweet, innocent, farmer's daughter. Jon was just used to the rough and tumble ways of a soldier's life in the barracks, where everything evolved around one thing. But that didn't mean—

Jon glanced up in time to see her move in for the kill, but not quickly enough to stop her. In an instant, the girl's arms were wrapped around his neck and her lips were pressed firmly to his. He registered a vague sense of shock as thin nubile fingers tugged at his breeches, uncinching his belt with one fluid flick of the wrist. His pants dropped down to his ankles, and he was left standing in nothing but his underwear.

Now, Astra was completely gorgeous, but this time, Jon was not tempted. With Saraiya it had been different…he had genuinely liked her personality, he was drunk with happiness from too much wine, and him and Alana were still technically just friends. True, that night had been a mistake, but he didn't let the guilt keep him up at night. This however, he knew would inspire endless insomnia. How would Saraiya feel, if he rejected her and then slept with her cousin? And even if Alanna was miles away and unconscious, he wouldn't cheat on her. Especially not in such a public place where they could get caught any minute! Yes the barn was deserted…for now. But any moment, someone could come charging in, and then where would he be? Saraiya's family had given him shelter when he needed it, he couldn't betray their trust. Sure, her father looked timid enough, but Jon had little doubt that if he was caught canoodling with his niece, well, the Emperor would be saved the trouble of trying to behead him—the job would be done for him.

But before Jon could explain all this to the obviously hormonally imbalanced teenager, a low moan escaped her lips and the Prince stumbled backwards. He found it hard to believe that Saraiya's cousin was draped all over him, all ready half naked. How in the Great Mother's name did she manage to get the top layer of her dress off? Thank Mithros there were about fifty layers to get through, else he'd see something he wasn't supposed to see!

Jon would never know how the athletic little nymph managed to simultaneously undress herself and pin him to the wall, for the very moment before he freed himself, Saraiya came strolling through the barn door, calling for him.

"Jon! Mum wants ter know if ye like yer meat rare or well-done and—"

The Lady Chief stopped dead in her tracks, horrified by the sight of her half-naked cousin clinging to a pantless Jon.

"Oh I _knew_ it," she whispered numbly, more to herself than to the guilty duo (well, Jon looked guilty, Astra just looked smug), "I knew as soon as I got 'ere an' Astra started making goo-goo eyes over th' table at ye that somtin' like this would occur…but Mithros I just can't believe…after what 'appened between us, after everythin' ye said 'bout lovin' Alanna…gods, Jon." And with a look of pure disgust mingled with painful hurt Saraiya turned on her heel and ran full-tilt out the barn door, sprinting for all she was worth.

"Saraiya, wait! Wait a sec! It's not what it looks like!" Jon hollered to her fleeing back. Roughly he shoved the simpering girl away from him, ignoring the code of chivalry that preached ever-vigilant docility towards the fairer sex. He chased her like a lion leaping after a gazelle, but she had a head-start and was in better shape than the (rather rusty) knight. She had reached the woods before he could even hope to stop her, and disappeared in their green-grey mists almost as if by magic.

"DAMN IT!" Jon cursed, throwing his hands up in the air and gasping for breath. Why did this sort of thing always happen to him? First Lady Panya tried to seduce him and then practically threatened to de-man him if he didn't comply, then Saraiya had to fall for him, now her cousin literally threw herself at him…whoever said good looks were a gift obviously never had to deal with raging irrational females trying to jump their bones. By the Hag, his deep sapphire blue eyes were nothing but a curse to him now!

He stalked miserably back to the farmhouse, biting his lip with worry and hoping Saraiya would emerge from the woods before nightfall. He would have plunged in after her to look for her, but he knew he'd just get lost. He didn't know the terrain, and what's more, he should probably mention to her parents that she was missing…

But it seemed Astra he preempted him. When he walked into the kitchen, he found her parents jovially pouring Champaign into fluted glasses, beaming proudly.

"Oh Jon dear, we _just _heard the news from Astra, we think it's simply _marvelous!_"

Jon was incredulous. Their daughter running away was "marvelous"? What was _wrong_ with these people?

"We just know you two will be _so_ happy together!"

"Huh?" Jon mumbled, running a hand through his rumpled bleached hair.

"Why, the _engagement_ of course! Honestly sweetie, you don't need to be modest around us, we're your future parents-in-law and we think it's simply fabulous! When are you kids planning the wedding? Summer, fall? I think an autumn wedding would be beautiful, we could have it at the church when the leaves are turning all crimson and gold—"

"WHAT?" Jon yelped, completely taken aback. Astra had told them they were _engaged_?

Just then little Glynis strode into the room rubbing her eyes, clearly having awoken from an afternoon nap by all the ruckus downstairs. "What's going on?" She blinked, yawning.

"Your sister is getting married to Jonathan!" Her aunt sang out merrily, raising her glass high in the air as if to announce a toast.

Suddenly Glynis' face scrunched up and she began to bawl, loudly. "WAAAAAAA!" she cried, "it's not fair! I like him too! How come Astra gets to marry him? I want to marry him! It's NOT _FAAAAAAAIR_!"

"Don't be silly Glynis," her elder sister snapped irately, "you're only twelve, you can't marry anyone."

"YES I CAN IF I WANT TO!" The child bawled even louder, stomping her foot in a raging temper tantrum.

"Auntie Kay! Make her be quiet, she's ruining my special day!" Astra demanded, looking livid. Her face was turning cherry pink and it wasn't just form the Champaign.

"Oh Glynis, _do_ stop crying, now Jon will be your brother, isn't that fabulous?" Her aunt tried bravely, attempting to pacify her.

"NOOOOO!" The girl kept shrieking. "Brothers stink! I want to get MARRIED!"

"Um, excuse me—" Jon tried to make his voice heard over the chaos. But with the little girl stamping her foot and screaming at the top of her lungs, Astra sneering and rolling her eyes at her, and Saraiya's mother waving her (now empty) Champaign glass all over the place, Jon couldn't get a word in edgewise. A strangled groan escaped his lips, until he noticed Saraiya's father sitting calmly by the sidelines, sighing as if he was used to this sort of drama.

Jon hastily pulled him aside, whispering quickly into his ear, "just to let you know, I'm _not_ engaged to your niece, I don't know where she got that idea in her delusional little mind, but more importantly, your daughter has run away into the woods. Don't you think someone should go after her before it gets dark?"

Her father shrugged, the same nonchalant expression lingering on his face. Slowly he took a puff of his tobacco pipe, turned to Jon and said, "don't worry 'bout Sary, she's a strong lass, can look after herself."

"But—"

"She'll be fine. It's these girls I have to worry about," the man said, indicating to the screaming trio of women in front of him, "don't tell her mother, but I never did like them girls coming to live with us. I think it made Saraiya awfully unhappy."

Jon looked at him with surprise in his eyes. "You mean—you knew, er, know, how Saraiya feels about her cousins?"

The man blinked at him. His jaw drooped like a goldfish's and a simple smoke ring trickled out of his mouth. "'Course son, don't you think I know my own daughter? But what could I do? It's my wife's nieces…'sides, Sary knows I'll always love her best."

"Actually," Jon intoned quietly, "I don't think she does. I think you should remind her sometime."

The old man raised a slow eyebrow. "You think so? Aw shucks, all right then." He turned back to the fray and Jon let himself out the farmhouse door. He knew he couldn't stay in the village any longer, not with three hysterical females in the house and another one roving the woods probably kicking every log in site pretending it was his head. He returned to the barn where he had been quartered for the last week, penned a quick parchment note to Saraiya explaining that he hadn't wanted any of her cousin's advances and when she was ready to listen to reason she'd realize the whole affair had just been one giant misunderstanding, and packed his belongings in his two saddlebags.

It was time he hit the road, a lone cowboy riding into the sunset after all.

* * *

_Carthak, the Sandlot Inn:_

"An' so then, then 'e says, those ain't no wee lil' grapes…those are right big ol' melons!" The inn roared as Alanna finished her raunchy joke, beaming with pleasure from the hearty applause.

"Mithros lass, how does a wee little kid like ye know such a dirty joke, eh?" Rooster asked, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.

Alanna looked blank. "Um, I dunno…I shink :hiccup: shomeone I know told it ter me once…a friend o' shometin."

"It sounds like a thief's joke…" Silver said thoughtfully, rubbing his chin in contemplation. "Where'd ye say ye were from again up North? Tyra?"

"No, Torshtall," Alanna hiccupped drunkenly. "At leasht that's where Rashcal shays I'm from…"

"Do ye perchance know th' Rogue there? George?"

Alanna screwed up her eyes in concentration. "Erm…I shink it shounds familiar…"

Suddenly realization dawned across her features. A hazy image of a tall man with shaggy brown hair, deep hazel eyes and a crooked nose wavered through her mind. But then the inn door slammed open, and the image fled.

"Mirthros, it's hell out there," Rascal sighed wearily, throwing down his bag and approaching the bar, "soldiers are everywhere, people are in an uproar, mothers are terrified there's a mass murderer running loose out there after their children, no one knows what's going on, and—Great Mirthros' Mother, i-is Alanna…did you…is she _drunk_?"

Rooster shrugged sheepishly. "Aw, don' worry mate, she's fine…"

"She's fine? She's _fine_? She's drunk!" Rascal cried bewilderedly, "She has amnesia! I'm supposed t' be taking care o' her! I come back an' find that ye lot got her _drunk_? Mithros, are ye _trying_ t' get me killed by th' Chief?"

"Relaxxxx, she's jus' havin' some fun…she just told a really filthy joke," Whiskers practically giggled, "let me tell ye it! So ok, these two men walk inter a bar--"

"I don' care 'bout no joke!" Rascal said exasperatedly, "come on 'Lanna, I'm getting' ye upstairs an' back ter bed—"

"No! I dun wanna go! I wanna shtay 'ere," Alanna defied petulantly, glaring at Rascal and practically falling our of her seat while reaching to grab Rooster's arm. "Shave me! Don' let Shticky Hair Boy take me away!"

Silver arched a bushy brow, "what did ye just call 'im lass? 'Sticky Hair Boy?'

"Yesh," Alanna blinked, "he hash shticky hair."

The men roared with laughter, slapping their knees and pointing at Rascal's messy cowlick. The younger thief fumed. Great! This new nickname would probably stick forever now! Rooster got his new name when a rooster shit on him, and they still didn't let him forget it! Why couldn't he be like Silver and have a cool nickname? Silver was one of the most proficient thieves of the brotherhood, and for some reason always managed to nab pieces of silver from right under noble's noses. Now, _that_ was a cool nickname…unlike 'Sticky Hair.'

Now he'd have to do something totally drastic to get them to change it, like Whiskers, who used to be called Marshmallow (for a rather unfortunate incident involving a Chipmunk Contest to see who could stuff the most marshmallows in one's mouth that got rather out of hand and involved a certain amount of not-so-pleasant regurgitation…on Saraiya's lap. Boy did he pay for THAT one, and not just from his unmanly new nickname…) but then he stopped shaving and was soon rechristened Whiskers, which was all together preferable to Marshmallow. But now Rascal would probably be called Sticky Hair for life…great…

"Yer comin' with me," Sticky Hair boy gritted his teeth, making to grab Alanna by the wrist and manhandle her back into her room.

But Alanna clung even tighter to Rooster's well-muscled arm. "Nooo! Shave me!" she shrieked louder, growing increasingly belligerent.

"Leave 'er alone!" Rooster grunted, patting her on the arm comfortingly, as if to say 'don't worry mate, I've gotcha.'

Rascal looked from one man to the other; they were all glaring at him. He knew when he was beat.

"Fine," he muttered, "but no more alcohol!"

"Deal," Rooster said satisfactorily, "now lass, what were ye sayin' bout th' Rogue in Tortall?"

"Ehm—" Alanna said.

"You mean she remembers someone from Tortall?" Rascal shrieked happily, his eyes wide. "Thank Mithros!"

"Not really," she muttered. "Jusht a few details. Doesh he 'ave a crooked nose? Like it's been broken :hiccup: before?"

"Yep, a bloke I know was th' one ter break it, I saw it meself when I was in Tortall on business," Whiskers said cheerfully. "So did your Rogue friend tell ye any more good jokes?"

"Come off that will ye?" Rascal glared at him, "she's trying to recover her memories!"

"So? We were havin' fun! Stop bein' a party-pooper, Sticky Hair," Whiskers snorted.

"Hey, that is NOT my name!" Rascal vented.

"It is now! Sticky Hair, Sticky Hair, Sticky Hair!" Whiskers teased.

"Stop it!" Rascal cried.

"Both of you shush," Rooster intervened, tired of their bickering, before turning to a rather pale-looking Alanna. "You ok lass?"

"Eh…I think so…" she said shakily, looking uneasy.

Rascal jumped to attention. "Oh my Mirthros, if she gets sick it will be YOUR fault!"

"Shut up Sticky Hair. She'll be fine."

"Ehhhhhh," Alanna muttered to herself, clutching her stomach. She felt kinf od nauseous… But suddenly her moans were replaced by the sound of the inn door slamming open and soldier's boots stomping inside.

All of sudden the jovial atmosphere in the room petered out into uncomfortable silence. What had been only two seconds ago a fairly lively party was now a somber silence. Saraiya hadn't told her men everything, knowing that the worst thing you could do with a secret was spread it around, but that didn't mean the thieves were completely clueless. They knew something was up with the soldiers prowling the city and the mysterious man who had showed up at their door on Midwinter's night half-naked and clutching the unconscious Alanna in his arms. He had left soon after with little explanation, but still. Something was definitely off…

"Hear ye, hear ye, by royal decree of his majesty the Emperor, we will be searching the property for the presence of one Jonathan of Tortall, the most wanted criminal in the land. Be forewarned that any interference with the letter of the aw may result in injury or death—so don't get in the soldier's way. Good day," Chartres proclaimed for the thousandth time, staring intently at the bar. Mithros his throat was parched! Surely the soldier's wouldn't mind if he just popped over there for a quick drink…

The thirsty man made his way across the room and ordered a shot of whiskey, straight up. Hey, if he was going to quench his thirst, he might as well make it something fun to drink, right?

Silver hastily served him, glancing discretely at the drunken Alanna and white-faced Rascal. Mirthos, the boy looked terrified…

Chartres brushed a limp hand through his sweaty hair as the soldiers dispersed around the inn, searching every room from the kitchen to the guest quarters for sign of the Fugitive. He glanced up and spotted the sickly looking Alanna who was swaying slightly in her seat. He squinted his tired eyes; why did the girl look so familiar? That flaming red hair was unforgettable…he had the strangest feeling he had seen her before…maybe in the palace…

But before the royal herald could come to the inevitable conclusion that the girl in ordinary commoner's clothes was actually none other than the "kidnapped" Lady Alanna, he was surprised to look down at his shirt and see something distinctly warm and wet….

"Shorry," Alanna muttered, before falling off her stool, "I think I jusht threw up on you…"

**…****Saphron…**

**

* * *

**  
_A/N:_ "But Saphron, isn't it a bit much? Why would Astra assume they're getting married?" I hear you all ask. Yes, yes, I know, I know, lol. She's just crazy, ok? She lives in this tiny little village with about three eligible bachelors and she's totally desperate. Where she comes from, if two people kiss the wedding gets planned the very next day. That's just how it works in her, quote, "delusional little mind," lol. Roll with it, haha.

_PS:_ Chapter 20, The Dancing Dove's Party. That's the exact joke George told while he was drunk. He told it to Alanna a long time ago, and when she was drunk she remembered it. Don't you love how everything ties together? ;) It takes so much planning for these things, lol.

_PPS:_ Careful with your boozie kiddies, lol.


	47. Ch 47 Just When Things Were Looking Up

**Homeward Bound: An Alternate Version of In the Hand of the Goddess**

**By Saphron**

_A/N: _TADA…as you can see, I've returned! –ducks 683 objects thrown at my head—Sorry about the unannounced hiatus, I just got super busy with school. Ehm. But this has not been abandoned! So…read on, right where we left off

_PS:_ Thanks for the inspirational reviews. That really helped get me back on track!

* * *

**Chapter 47 – Just When Things Were Looking Up…**

_Carthak, the Emperor's Palace, Chartres' Bedroom:_

It wasn't until the giant clock tower outside his bedroom window struck three in the morning that Chartres had his brilliant epiphany. He had spent the entire afternoon crinkling his nose in the effort not to gag at the smell of his robes, as the guards hadn't let him return to the castle to change out of his puke-stained attire. Apparently, keeping on schedule was more important than his comfort level. Naturally, the only thing on his mind all day was that stupid wench who had been sick all over him.

And that was the source of his insomnia, and eventually, the realization that he had seen this girl before. He _knew_ she had seemed decidedly familiar, but he hadn't quite been able to put his finger on it…but there was something about the fiery red hair, the slightly upturned button nose, the bright violet eyes that gazed with uncanny perceptiveness…

And then the bells in the campanile chimed three times in succession, and he knew—the girl was none other than _Lady Alanna!_

He had seen her at the ball—hell, he had _flirted_ with her at the ball, and gotten kicked in the nads for the effort of it!—only she had been all dolled up then, dressed head to toe in fine soft silk. Today she had been wearing a simple common girl's outfit, tan breeches, a loose fitting white cotton shirt, some leather sandals. But she was one in the same, that was for sure.

Oh, he couldn't wait to tell the Emperor! He wasn't sure exactly how this information would be useful to him, but he felt certain it must merit some sort of reward. Or at least an end to this miserable job heralding around the city…

After all, by now the entire court knew the Emperor's wrath when he discovered he couldn't operate the Mage's Ball without Lord Oppenheimer. The information was supposed to be top secret—but really, did anything stay secret in the castle for long? Chartres felt certain that the Emperor was desperate for any alternate way to unlatch the secrets of the Gadget…maybe Lord Oppenheimer's former lover could help…

The royal doorman would go to his Emperor in the morning, but for now he needed sleep. His mind finally at ease, having solved the mysterious puzzle gnawing at the corners of his brain, he was ready for a blissful night of slumber. Fantastic…

* * *

_Carthak, the Sandlot Inn: _

In the morning the gist was up. Rascal realized with a hard knock at his heart that he was in deep trouble. Just when things were looking up, the most unfortunate thing had happened. Apparently, the doorman Alanna had thrown up on had recognized her and reported her presence in the city to the Emperor. Now new wanted signs littered the streets in the gutters next to the old ones of the Jonathan boy. They were everywhere—in shop windows, on sign posts, against hitching blocks for the horses, tavern walls and barmen's counters…like a furious sea of parchment swallowing the city whole, they poured into the commoner's district with absolute fury.

Why oh why had he let Alanna keep drinking with the men? This was all their fault! He had told her to stay in her room where she'd be safe, but did she listen? No. He had told them to lay off before she made herself sick, but did anyone listen to him? No. And now look what had happened…"Lady Alanna" (the title was ambiguous—was she noble or common? Who even knew anymore?) was wanted throughout the lands for information regarding her former "lover's" mage work.

She had been forgotten about during the "kidnapping"—why would anyone from the upper echelons of the castle care about the disappearance of one silly noble girl?—until the Emperor realized that maybe, just _maybe_, Lord Oppenheimer had let his fiancé been privy to some of the inner workings of his magical work. In all likelihood he hadn't bothered explaining anything to a vapid noblewoman just intelligent enough to count the number of servants she desired to wait on her, but there was always a slim hope for more. And the Emperor would grasp at any fleeting shot of hope.

And that's why, under the hazy cloak of a wet rainy dawn, Rascal found himself hustling a sleepy eyed and rather snappish young Alanna through the foggy city streets and out onto the Great Central Road. She had whined about leaving so early—apparently she wasn't a morning person, which was made evidently clear by the breakfast croissant she chucked at his head—but she trusted him enough to comply. Everything was still a blur in her memory, but she had the occasional flash of insight when she realized that the view form the palace on the outside looked strangely familiar. She didn't exactly remember riding to the gates in a horse drawn chariot…but those massive towers and crimson flags waving in the wind resonated a strong feeling of _de ja vu. _

"Why do we have to leave so Gods-cursed early anyway?" Alanna snapped, biting down on a yawn. Mithros, she was still nursing the hangover from hell, why was Rascal dragging her onto the back of a horse? When it was raining nonetheless! She wanted to be tucked into her nice and cozy bed, or maybe annoying the men by the fireplace and demanding they teach her more knife tricks…

"Because, we need to find Saraiya. She'll know what to do…maybe we can hide you with your friend Jonathan…" Rascal replied, whipping his reins smartly against his steed's dripping flanks. He wanted to make it to the village of Little Wimpleton before nightfall. He wasn't sure if it was possible, having never visited the place himself, but he had overheard Saraiya explaining to Jonathan where it was. How hard could it be to find it?

"I still don't know who that is," she muttered under her scowl. It was true. Everyone kept talking about this Jon person—his face was plastered all over the city, for Mirthros's sake—yet still her mind remained blank. How well did Saraiya and Rascal know the man? How did she know he could really be trusted once they found him again? What if he was a jerk? What if he forgot about her while she was in her coma? What if, what if…

"You'll find out soon enough," Rascal smiled comfortingly, digging his heels harder into the muscles of his steed. It was really started to come down now, the rain. "C'mon, giddyup!"

* * *

_Carthak, the woods:_

Jon was totally, completely, and utterly _lost_. Just when things were looking up, he had gone astray. He had fled the village of Little Wimpleton with the sole purpose of escaping Saraiya's deranged household, but he hadn't really had the best plan of action in the world. He just wanted to get out of there…

And now, predictably, he was wandering around the woods like an idiot. He had stuck to the main road until he came to a giant tree that had fallen in the middle of the road…yeah, that definitely wasn't there before. (Must have been the rainy windstorm that knocked it over...) And in an effort to go around it, he had encountered a patch of boulders, and then a stream, and finally he had no idea where the main road was. He felt he was close but he couldn't exactly be sure…

Finally, he stopped to dismount and build himself a small fire. He was freezing in the rain! Traveling around lost was stupid anyway, the skies were dark from the black storm clouds and he had to pick his way carefully across the rocky terrain to keep his horse from stumbling. He wasn't getting anywhere, and he was cold. He'd tackle his way back onto the main road tomorrow morning when the skies started clearing…but for now he wanted warmth, and shelter. And a large tree with a heavy canopy of thick broad leaves seemed just the ticket.

* * *

_Carthak, the woods:_

Perfect. There it was—the perfect prey. He was just sitting there under that tree, trying to build a small fire with little luck. Idiot. Everyone knew you couldn't start a fire in the rain. Even if you could find dry wood—which was hard, but not impossible—the very air was too damp to support a flame. Obviously, this was a city boy who had never had to spend a night out of doors. Hence—perfect prey.

Just when things were looking up, a twig snapped under her left boot and Saraiya fought the urge to curse. She wasn't an amateur, damn it! She was head of the Brotherhood of the Arabian Knights, she should know better than to step on noisy bits of fragile wood!

She narrowed her eyes, peering closer at her victim. Good. He didn't seem to notice anything. His head was still bent over the fledgling pile of sticks and leaves, completely oblivious to the danger lurking outside his little sphere of dryness. All was well.

Normally, Saraiya didn't stoop to mugging individual travelers just trying to make their way back home, but desperate times called for desperate measures, and this was one of those times. She had left home without anything on her but the clothes on her back, and she was hungry. Mayhap she could steal some grub from this traveler; he was bound to have some on him. She'd be nice and even leave him his horse so he wouldn't be stranded in the woods forever—but she wanted his food. That he'd be forced to surrender.

Jon didn't even notice the thief spring out from her hiding spot until a slender blade slipped under the crook of his chin. His attacker was behind him—he couldn't see her. He didn't even know it _was_ a her…all he knew was that cold steel pressed against his throat, and if he wasn't careful, he might not survive until morning.

"Don' move," a soft voice hissed dangerously in his right ear, "just do as I say an' no one needs ter get hurt."

Jon gulped, fighting the urge to be nauseous. What was the matter with him? He was a full grown knight of the realm! How had he not taken precautions against thieves? He should know better than this…he should have been more alert, he should have been watching for danger…

"Take what you want, though I haven't much," he rasped hoarsely, swallowing hard. He couldn't believe this was happening. First he got lost, now he got mugged. Could things get any worse?

"Jus' yer food laddy-boy, s'all I want. Where's th' steak 'n beans, eh?"

Jon fought a desperate bark of laughter struggling to escape. So he wasn't dealing with an actual thief after all! Just some hungry kid after some baked beans! Well, he'd show the young buck not to mess with strange knights…he'd still be careful of the blade of course, sharp steel was sharp steel regardless of the hands that held, it, but suddenly he felt confident he could tackle this little dilemma no problem.

"'Afraid I haven't got any," he shrugged with a lopsided grin, "but you're welcome to share my fire little boy…er, if I can ever start it, that is."

Saraiya venomous hiss sounded like an angry rattlesnake's—_little boy?_ Oh, this fool would pay for _that_ little barb, that was for certain!

"If ye don' cut th' lies I'll cut yer throat," she whispered, "I know no traveler ventures into th' woods wit'out food 'n supplies."

Jon sighed, but it was clear friendliness and the truth weren't working. Time for plan B. With a fluid motion of his wrist, he reached around and grabbed the blade by the hilt, yanking it hard out of Saraiya's grasp. She uttered a gasp of shock but quickly regained her senses, pouncing on him before he was fully turned and lunging for the knife. The two rolled in the mud wrestling for the blade, each grunting and kicking and grumbling with exertion. They squashed bushes and flattened branches. Twigs and leaves flew into the air like shrapnel, mud soaked them until they were almost unrecognizable. It was a long and drawn out battle; Jon had more upper body strength, but Saraiya had agility and experience on her side. Each were growing exhausted but they'd never admit it. They;d fight to the death before surrendering, it was just their nature.

Finally a flash of lightening saved them from killing each other when it lit up the sky, revealing their muddy faces. They each realized with a shock—

"JONATHAN!"

"SARAIYA?"

"AARRRGGGHHHHH! Get off of me you idiot-brained dolt-head! Right now!"

"Excuse me, but _you're_ the one who jumped _me_ in the first place," Jon grumbled, but obliged the lady thief and rolled off of her with a heavy sigh. "What are you doing, trying to mug people's beans anyway?"

"Well I obviously didn' bring no food wit me when I ran away, moron," she snorted, getting to her feet and mustering as much dignity as she could while covered head to toe in sticky brown mud. "Now if you excuse me, I'm going to go find some food," she sniffed airily, turning on her heel.

"Sary wait!" Jon called, lunging for her wrist, "let me just explain, it's not what you think—"

"Don't touch me," the Lady Thief spat acidly, yanking her hand free with a nasty glare. "Don't even _think_ about coming near me, or I swear to the Hag I'll cut yer balls off."

Jon gulped, a look of pure terror plastered across his face, but apparently decided to risk it. "There's nothing between Astra and me, and if you listen a moment, I'll tell you what happened," he said slowly, praying silently she believed him. She paused for a moment, giving him hope, before leaping into the forestry.

With a curse he lept after her, running for all he was worth. Like a lion stalking his prey they ran through the woods, water and leaves a glassy green blur. Only luck allowed him to catch her when she stumbled on a twig, and down the two fell, rolling in the grass panting for breath. He pinned her to the earth with all his force while she struggled vainly to escape, cursing and spitting with each raggad breathe.

"I know you…hate me…right now…Sary," Jon gasped, clutching her wrists tighter, "but trust me…this is for…your own good… You're going to listen…to…what I…have to say…and then…I'll get off…of…you. So ok…it all started…in the barn…"

* * *

It took Jon two hours, but finally Saraiya was convinced of his innocence. He had to swear on every god she knew, on his shield, his parents, and finally Alanna's immortal soul (she knew that one would get to him) that he was telling the truth, and he dutifully obliged. She still didn't forgive him for tackling her, but still. At least they were friends again. Kind of.

Just when things were looking up, it came as a surprise when the two newly acquainted buddies suddenly heard loud voices less than fifty feet away. They crept closer through the underbrush, eager to investigate.

"We're _lost_ I _told_ you, we've passed that _same_ tree four times!" Alanna bellowed, stomping her foot for emphasis. They were going by foot through the rocky part of the woods to save the horses some wear and tear, and it was decidedly uncomfortable.

"We're not lost! I know where I'm going!" Rascal snapped back, though the knot of anxiety at the pit of his stomach said otherwise. Curse his stupid memory for forgetting the way…maybe they should have turned left at the fork in the road instead of right?

"You do not! Why can't we just stop and rest, it's not like we're going anywhere anyway! And I'm _tired_!" Alanna hollered angrily, glaring into Rascal's back.

"Mirthors you are so _annoying_... we're not stopping! So just drop it!"

"But it's _stupid_ to keep wandering around aimlessly like this—"

"Alanna will you just SHUT THE HELL UP?" Rascal shouted, finally losing it. Her eyes widened at the palm held above her head ready to smack her across the face, but a rough hand yanked him by the shirt collar and pressed his nose inches away from the angriest eyes he had ever met.

"If you _ever_ speak to her again like that, or so much as even _think_ about hitting her, I will personally take great pleasure in making you wish you were never born," Jonathan of Conte said coldly, manhandling the terrified teenager and shoving him away roughly. With his squire now directly in sight, he strode towards her quickly, the hard features of his frown melting into a warm glow of happiness. "Alanna, thank god you're all right! What are you doing here though?" he asked, enveloping her in the tightest hug he could make, "Oh thank Mirthros, your memory must have returned!"

"Get off of me you creep!" She squeaked against his shouler in response, withering to escape his grasp. Who was this maniac grabbing her?

His firm grip loosened slightly in confusion. Huh? Seemed to be the only expression eh could manage. What was she talking about?

Alanna growled when he didn't let go. She had been dragged out of bed at an ungodly hour of the morning--hungover to boot--ridden through the woods behind the arse of an idiot who couldn't tell north from south if a polar bear were pointing the way, and now she was getting molested by some yucky mud-covered sketchasauraus. Enough was ENOUGH!

OOMPH was a rough approximation of the sound Jon made as he collapsed to the floor clutching his manhood in agony. Alanna sniffed, rubbed her hands in satisfaction, and stepped over the grunting man.

"Now, who are you?" She asked the other woman present, crossing her arms with a stony gaze.

Saraiya's jaw was still dropped open…she couldn't believe Alanna had just punched Jonathan where the sun didn't shine. The guy was a prick to be sure, but no guy deserved that kind of treatment from the woman he loved…she took it the girl still hadn't gotten her memory back yet...

"Ehm. My name is Saraiya, you were living in my home these past few weeks," the Lady Chief coughed uncomfortably, "And that man you just completely debilitated is Jonathan, Jonathan of Conte. Your best friend."

Alanna blinked, and gazed archly down at the fallen prince. "Whoopsie…" she murmured. "Um, nice to see you again?

Jon didn't bother to reply. He was too busy dying of agony.

* * *

It took awhile to clear things up—mostly because Jon kept interrupting the thieves' attempts to explain the situation to one another with the occasional odd moaning sound—but eventually everything became clear to the two reunited parties. Alanna's memory hadn't returned, but they were forced to flee the city when the Emperor plastered the city with wanted posters. Now both were enemies of the state with heavy prices on their heads, and they needed a plan of action, a way to avoid the guards that would be flooding the country in search of them. But for now they needed rest. It had been an exhausting day, after all.

The foursome spent the night uncomfortably curled together for warmth in the mud-banks of the River Zeoik, praying to their respective gods and mulling over the bizarre scenario that had landed them in this mixed-up position in the first place. It had seemed like just yesterday the two Tortallans had crossed that big blue ocean and landed on the shores of this godforsaken country…but then they had been united in their quest to go home, now Saraiya and Rascal were forced to sleep between them for fear of the two killing each other in the middle of the night.

Jon apparently hadn't forgiven Alanna for "endangering his future children" (as he put it), and she still hadn't forgiven him for "molesting her like a pervert" (as she put it). Hence, the division line created by two very fed-up Carthaki thieves. They had tried to soothe the ruffled feathers but each party was too stubborn to listen. Nonetheless, morning dawned bright and early, and soon the foursome found their way back onto the main road—thanks in large part to Saraiya—and riding towards the village of Little Wimpleton once again.

"Why do we have to go back there?" Jon whined, frowning sullenly. "I so don't want to deal with your deranged sister again…"

"Because," Saraiya sniffed, "we don' 'ave any other place t'put ye! So unless ye want to spend the next few months hidin' in the mountains like hermits, ye best come along. An' she's not deranged. Just…eager."

"You know, that actually doesn't sound half bad," Jon murmured, brightening up a bit and ignoring Saraiya's halfhearted attempts to defend her mentally unbalanced sibling, "the mountain thing I mean. Sure it'd be hard with no pre-made food or shelter, but we could do it. We could live off the fat of the land, catch fish in the streams, pick berries, that sort of thing…"

"You're not getting out of seeing my sister again," Saraiya grumbled. "Now hurry along, we're almost there."

But when they reached the village they were dismayed to find Saraiya's parents absolutely furious. Just when things were looking up, the four arrived in front of the white gate and knocked expectantly only to see that the chaos hadn't quite settled down yet.

"How dare you just, just run off and jilt our darling precious daughter!" Saraiya's mother shrieked as soon as she saw Jonathan's tall frame duck under her door. "She's been crying in her room all night because of you! You, you dirty little dog!"

"Mrs. Benzley, if you'd just let me explain—" Jon tried desperately, but to no avail.

"OUT!" She hollered, "get out! Pop tell them! Tell them to get out! Well not you Sary dear, of course _you_ can stay, and your little friends too, but this Jonathan merchant! Humph! I want him OUT OF MY HOUSE!"

"Mum! Calm down," Saraiya began, but she had about as much luck as Jonathan. Alanna snickered, reveling in the moment. She didn't know who this Mrs. Benzley woman was, but she whole-heartedly agreed with her plan of attack to throw sugar bowls at the pervert's head. He had probably molested her daughter too! That's what pervs did, after all.

Just then Astra came floating into the room, sniffing daintily. Even with her eyes red and swollen she still looked madly beautiful though.

"What's HE doing here?" She gasped, looking affronted.

Glynis was not far behind her. "You've come back for me! I knew it!" The little girl cried, clapping her hands in glee.

"OUT!" Mrs. Benzely kept screaming. "BEGONE AT ONCE!"

Saraiya shot Jon an appraising look. "On second thought, maybe it would be nice ter pick berries in th' mountains, eh?"

"I'm down for that," Jon said solemnly, ducking another one of Saraiya's mother's ceramic wear ammunition. Luckily this one missed him and flew out the window.

"OUT!"

"How dare you show your face after breaking my heart?"

"I love you Jon-Jon, you're so handsome…"

"MUM!" Saraiya finally yelled over the din, "the reason Jon didn' return Astra's feelings was…er…he's already spoken for, by me. We're, um, engaged."

"WHAT?" Shouted Saraiya's mother.

"WHAT?" Shouted Astra.

"WHAT?" Shouted Glynis.

"WHAT?" Shouted Rascal.

"WHAT?" Shouted Alanna.

"WHAT?" Shouted Jonathan himself.

"Oh?" Drawled Saraiya's father.

"That's right," Saraiya said with a deep breath, "I lied before. We _are_ involved…that's why…he fled her kiss. She was just confused 'n thought it meant somthin' when it didn't, ye see?"

"Oh. Oh my. Now I don't know _what_ to think…" Trilled Saraiya's mom, kneading a dishrag worriedly.

"Oh, well, I didn't want him anyway," Astra sniffed, regaining her lost composure like royalty.

Ever the one to follow the lead of her older sister, Glynis added, "er, yeah! Me too! I don't want him either! Boys have cooties anyway."

Saraiya's father just quirked an eyebrow. "So, you kids gonna stay for lunch, now that that's taken care of? 'Course, we don' got no more sugar for the table seein' as the bowl got chucked out the window, but we'll make do."

With a grateful sigh, the foursome pulled out their chairs and settle in for some food. No one noticed Rascal's pale pallor or sad withdrawn manor, nor Astra's jealous green eyes. With the rules of engagement so tangled, hardly anyone knew what to believe anymore. Just when things were looking up, life had a way of messing it all up again.

* * *

**Saphron**

_A/N:_ So…did ya miss me, lol? –beams brightly--


	48. Chapter 48 THE MOUNTAIN

**Homeward Bound: An Alternate Version of In the Hand of the Goddess**

**By Saphron**

_A/N:_ I've probably lost a lot of readers, but thank you to everyone who is still here. My very original idea for this fic was just to have Alanna and Jon living alone together in the deep woods to see what might happen between them…then it evolved into THIS. But now, finally, we're returning to the first storyboard. I hope you enjoy reading this part as much as I know I'm going to enjoy writing it.

_PS:_ Prepare for future fluff. –wink wink-

* * *

**Chapter 48 – THE MOUNTAIN**

_Carthak, Little Wimpleton:_

They were halfway through a large batch of Sheppard's pie when the door burst open and Rascal skidded to a halt by his leader's feet, gasping hard for all he was worth.

"_Soldiers_…coming…" he choked out, red-faced and quivering in fear "I think…they foll…followed us…looking…fer…"

He didn't need to complete the sentence. Instantly, Saraiya sprang to her feet, yanking Jon and Alanna up by the shirt collar and shoving them roughly out the door.

"Horses, go," she barked calmly, turning to face her utterly confused family.

"What is going on darling?" Her mother trilled, blinking like a startled goldfish. "Are you going for a little ride around the countryside?"

"Not 'xactly," the Lady Chief sighed grimly, leaning forwards to place two sturdy hands on the oak wood table before her for emphasis. What she had to say next wouldn't exactly be easy for her parents and cousins to hear.

"I lied," She said simply, cutting to the chase. Mrs. Beazely hiccupped in surprise. "Jon ain't really a merchant, an we're not rally engaged. He's actually a fugitive on th' run, but he actually _is_ my friend. I thought I could hide him away 'ere fer awhile…I guess I was wrong."

Her mother looked decidedly pale, and for once her father didn't seem to be taking the news much better. He placed a large hand over his wife's in comfort.

"The Emperor must 'ave grown wind o' th' fact that he an' th' girl fled th' city, an' sent soldiers ter search th' countryside…" she continued, more to her herself then anyone else in the room. "Ah well, can't dwell on it now. Whatever ye do, deny ye ever met them. If th' soldiers come ter your door, you've never seen nor heard o' a man named Jonathan nor a girl named Alanna. Understand?"

Her close relations sat in stunned silence, too paralyzed with shock to comprehend her words. That nice young man who had sat at their dinner table was a _fugitive_?

"Good heavens, what in the world did he _do_?" Saraiaya's mother squeaked fearfully.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean t' bring danger t' you all, I honestly thought they'd stick t' th' city, but there's no time to explain now," Saraiya answered, her voice tinged with urgency. "I'll stay 'ere wit' you—mayhap I could take down a few soldiers if they smell something suspicious. Rascal—"

Behind her, the thief was still clutching his aching side, but at the sound of his name he glanced up through his shaggy brown hair and nodded solemnly, silently acknowledging that he understood what his leader wanted him to do.

They had discussed the possibility that soldiers might eventually come for their friends earlier that day. Although they had thought at the time it was only a distant possibility, they had prepared a Plan B just in case. It looked like it was time to implement that plan now.

He swept some leftover food into his rucksack and trotted out the backdoor after the two Tortallans, calling over his shoulder, "I'll do exactly as we planned an' guide them t' th' mountain. I'll see ye in th' city Sary—good luck!"

The Lady Chief didn't respond. She simply tightened the belt string where her secret knives were hid, and turned to face the door, ready for the soldiers to arrive.

* * *

"Can ye believe we hav' to swot through this 'ere bumfuck village?" A soldier said crudely, spitting a wad of tobacco in a villager's lovingly tended gardenia bushes.

"Ach, t'think th' murderer an' th' mage's bitch might be 'ere o' all places!" replied his comrade, trampling a flower pot without the slightest regard. "It took forever t'get them rogues in the inn ter tell us where th' fugitives are. Thank Mirthros Haagor's good at spellin' people ter tell th' truth!"

"Aye mate, we finally found the damn village. Now let's go find us some fugitives! I could do wit $10,000 gold nobles of reward money!"

* * *

Rascal led Jon and Alanna on a dusty unused road out of the back of the village and into a large untended field. Shaggy grass rippled in the wind like the sea, waves of long-stemmed grain whispering forlornly in the breeze. A lone bird chirped a lonely call. Grey clouds swirled above ominously. Their horses weren't even saddled—they were riding them bareback, a blanket in one arm and a sack of food in the other.

"I don't know how th' soldiers found us," Rascal sighed, unusually sober, as he turned to face his fugitive friends. "But this is a really bad sign. Saraiya was convinced they would stick ter th' city…but something must 'ave happened, someone must 'ave tipped them off…regardless, ye can't stay 'ere. Or any village fer that matter. Word will spread around th' countryside o' two missing fugitives, villagers talk like that. Ye can't stay in Carthak anywhere where there are people."

"Then what exactly are we supposed to do?" Jon said shortly, knitted brows etching a concerned expression on the fine features of his face. "We can't go to the docks and _leave_ the country, but we can't go to the villages and _stay_ in the country!"

"That's why you're going t' disappear," Rascal responded grimly, un-mounting and approaching a crop of large protruding boulders. He peered closely at the rocks, as if looking for something.

"What in Mirthros' name are you talked about?" Jon said exasperated, "and what are you looking for?"

"The way," he said simply, pushing two thorn bushes aside and wincing as their spiky tips grazed his lanky fingers. "It's around 'ere somewhere…"

Alanna blinked in confusion. It was bad enough she had no recollection of who she was or how she got here, then dragged on a horse in the middle of the night to some forest where a stupid perv molested her, then stashed in some house where the occupants glared daggers at her, _now_ she was in a field in the middle of nowhere with a crazy man looking at a bunch of rocks and another crazy man who might also be a creepy perv. Could things _get_ any worse?

"I still don't understand," Jon frowned, trying to remain calm and reasonable. "And where in the hell is Saraiya? Isn't she coming with us?"

"No," Rascal replied, wincing. "She's not. She's staying with her family, to protect them…in case there's trouble."

"Trouble? What kind of trouble?" Alanna asked, her palms itching. She didn't like the sound of that. This whole affair was just too dodgy.

But Rascal just shrugged, focusing his efforts on the boulders. "She'll be fine. She can take care of herself…I hope. Ah-ha!" he suddenly shrieked, tugging at the bushes until a small hole appeared. "Here it is!"

"Here _what_ is?" Jon asked eagerly, dismounting to get a closer look.

"Your path to freedom," Rascal sighed, relived. "Listen closely. You're going to have to live in the mountains by yourself until the heat dies down. It won't be easy, there's wild animals, and poisonous plants, and it can get pretty cold at night. But if you're smart, and capable, and brave, you can make it. There's food—berries, game if you can catch it, fish in the rivers—water, caves for shelter…you'll have to fight to survive, but I—that is, we, Saraiya and me—think you can do it."

"You must be mad," Alanna said simply, blinking rapidly. "You must be absolutely insane. I am not, I repeat, NOT, going to live like a hermit on some mountain all by myself!"

"Well, you'll have Johnny-boy here to come ye company," Rascal grinned lop-sidedly.

"Oh, great," Alanna muttered, rolling her eyes.

"Gee, thanks," Jon grumbled unhappily. He didn't like the fact that she didn't remember him or their friendship. It made relations between them extremely strained, and quite frankly he didn't know how to handle it.

"No time to squabble," Rascal said cheerfully, his old color returning a bit now that he had successfully found the secret trail used for generations by people with secrets to keep. "Now hurry up and start climbing. This path will lead you up, but after it ends just keep climbing higher, going deeper into the mountain heartlands, until you're so lost no one can ever find you."

"No," Alanna snorted, stomping her foot for emphasis. "I am not going to spend the rest of my life in the wilderness!"

"It won't be for the rest of your life, it will just be for a few months until the heat dies down and the Emperor stops looking for us," Jon said to her, willing her to be cooperative for once in her life. Damn her stubborn streak!

But still she refused. "Clearly, you don't understand the meaning of the word _no_," she spat acidly, "but then again, I would expect that from a perv."

"Oh my Mithros, for the _last_ time, I am not a perv! I was giving you a hug! A HUG damn it!"

"Enough!" Rascal commanded, giving Jon a look that said 'deal with it later, just let it go for now.'

Then he turned to Alanna, warm eyes frozen into steel. "Do ye prefer th' alternative?" he whispered hoarsely, completely serious. "Do ye prefer t' be caught by th' Emperor's men an' tortured until ye reveal Lord Oppenheimer's secrets? They'll beat ye until bruises line every inch o' your body. They'll hang ye from a rack an' stretch your bones until every muscle screams wit' pain. They'll probably rape ye, an' they might even spell ye until ye go insane if they're particularly vindictive. It's that what you'd like? After everything Saraiya did t' protect ye? Would ye like t' just throw yer life away? Because if so, ye can turn the fuck around right now an' ride back t' Little Wimpleton, I won't stop you. Th' soldiers are there waiting for ye. What will it be?"

Alanna stood horrorstruck in the sunshine. The prospect of leaving the comforts of society was not pleasant. But neither was the scenario Rascal outlined. Not pleasant at all…

"Well," she gulped, her stomach knotting, "what are you waiting for Jon? You heard the man! Get under that bush and start moving! Jeez, do you _want_ to be caught?"

And with a flip of her hair, she stepped onto the path and began hiking.

Jon's jaw dropped. Rascal patted him on the shoulder comfortingly, "you'll have a fun time with that one, I'm sure. Now go on. I'm taking the horses and riding back to th' Chief. Good luck mate."

"Aye," Jon said solemnly. "And Rascal—thank you—I—"

"No need t' thank me, I understand," he replied, smiling. "May the gods be with you. Giddyup!"

Jon shook his head at Rascal's retreating back, and ducked to follow his squire into the great unknown. He didn't know what exactly was in store for the two of them, but he knew it would be quite the journey.

** ...Saphron...**

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…**Saphron…**

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…**Saphron…**


	49. Chap 49 Under Wood Tents and Party Tents

**Homeward Bound: An Alternate Version of In the Hand of the Goddess**

**By Saphron**

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****Chapter 49 – Under Wood Tents and Party Tents**

_Carthak:_

"Alanna, we need _shelter_ first—don't you remember our knight training?" Jon asked, perplexed. After spending last night curled in the roots of a large redwood tree, totally exposed to ferocious winds and the morning dew, he knew their first priority was to secure shelter. Sir Gareth the Elder, their former teacher of the knightly arts, could have told the unfortunate pair that if he had been there—but sadly, Sir Gareth was far, far away, dealing with his own problems, and Jon and Alanna were left to fend for themselves in the wild wilderness of Carthak.

"OK, I'm _positive_ it's more important to find fresh water first, and _no_ I don't remember our knight training. You _know_ I have amnesia or whatever it's called…" Alanna quipped back, brushing a low hanging vine out of the way. "And by the way, could you _please_ stop looking at my butt, if I'm going to have to live with a perv there's going to be some ground rules!"

"I was not looking at your, your posterior end!" Jon cried, mortified. "I was watching where you stepped to make sure you didn't trip!"

"Yeah, right. That's what they all say…pfft. Now where can we find some fresh water? We need a river or something."

Jon sighed and trotted along in Alanna's wake, or rather, warpath. She may not have her memory back, but she was still the same old Alanna; stubborn, determined, obstinately charming, and hot-tempered as a fire-ant.

It took two more days—days of Alanna's weary uneasiness and Jon's trying patience—but finally the pair found the fresh water river they desperately needed. Rascal had packed them a few flasks of clean well water, but they had quickly run dry in the hot spring sunshine, and by the time Alanna and Jon had reached Zekoi River they were parched. Their tongues felt like sandpaper scraping against the hollow sucked in cavity of their empty sunken cheeks. Every bead of sweat that dripped down their waxy brows and slipped between the curves of their aching hot shoulder blades was a perpetual reminder of the precious water they were losing with each agonizing step. The thirst made them short-tempered with one another, bitter and snappish, prone to stupid squabbles and stumbling steps. It was one thing to go hungry for 48 hours—it was quite another to go thirsty.

But find the river—their salvation—they did, and the next step was to set up a suitable shelter from the elements. By day it was uncomfortably warm, although the canopy of dense trees provided a fair degree of shade, but nights were uncommonly cold in the southern desert-like land. Alanna had to use her Gift sometimes to warm herself, which left her even grumpier than usual in the morning. She didn't like it much…and neither did Jon. However, their first attempt to build anything that even remotely resembled a livable abode failed miserably.

"EEK!" Alanna cried frightfully, as a pile of wood collapse a mere inch away from her nose. "JONATHAN OF CONTE, YOUR STUPID "SHELTER" ALMOST KILLED ME AGAIN!" She shouted angrily, working through the pile of tumbled limber. The dolt-head had actually thought it'd be a good idea to stack a bunch of unstable branches into a wooden tent! It was completely unstable! Idiot!

"Sorry," he grinned sheepishly, trying to cover a laugh with the palm of his dirt-streaked hand. She just looked so funny when her face went beat red. "Um, there's a little twig in your hair, let me just—"

"DON'T touch me!" She shrieked, ruffling a hand through her red locks. "Um, is it out?" She amended, crinkling her nose.

Jon squinted, peering closer at his fiery little squire, "er, no. And wait…actually…I don't think it's a twig at all…Mirthros, think it's a spider! I hope it's not poisonous—Alanna? Are you ok?"

Alanna's eyes were wide with pure terror. Although she had no specific memory of a giant man-eating spider threatening to eat her as a small child, instinctively she just knew she _hated_ spiders.

"Get it out," she said stony-faced, barely above a whisper. All color was drained from her face. She looked like she was going to faint any moment.

Jon quirked an eyebrow. Alanna the fearless, afraid of a harmless bug? Ha! Who would have ever thought! _Well the tables are certainly turned now_, Jon thought laughingly to himself, _she's been bitching at me all week…time for a little payback!_

"Say please," he smiled toothily, flashing his best grin. Oh, he was enjoying this all right!

Alanna's eyes narrowed, but her hands still trembled as she struggled to chose between her pride and her sanity. "Bite me," she choked out, slowly raising a hand to swipe the offending insect off herself. She didn't need a man to do it! Although of course, that'd mean she'd actually have to _touch_ the nasty thing…

Suddenly she felt a prickle of tentacles tickling the back of her neck, and the last remains of her pride flew out the window with a splash.

"GET IT OUT, GET IT OUT, GET IT OUT!" She shrieked, hopping up and down in one place and screeching like a banshee.

Jon laughed as he grabbed her, reaching around the back of her head to swipe away the evil creature with a steady flick of his strong manly hand. Alanna felt the creepy-crawly pest fly off her neck and sagged in relief against him, exhaling slowly to recover from the shock. Jon glanced down at a sighing Alanna, noting the shallow curve of her half-lidded purple eyes, and the way her bottom lip jutted out when she was excited or frightened by something. A beat later, Alanna looked up and realized her close proximity to him with astonishment. She was about to snap something snippy at him about perverts feeling her up, but something inside her suddenly compelled her to swallow the words whole. His mesmerizing sapphire eyes were steady and unblinking as they peered curiously—almost tenderly?—at her. What was this look she saw in his eyes? How could she possible define it, realize it, comprehend it? Reciprocate it…

She broke their contact roughly with a shove, pushing away the intensity of his gaze and the gentle presence of his strong hands resting lightly on her neck. A nonsensical mumble, something about rebuilding the shelter before night fall, tripped out her mouth as Jon sighed, silently turning around and reaching for the heaviest log, the backbone of their shelter. The fact that she hadn't bit his head off for touching her was definitely progress, but that small contact with her smooth sweet skin, that small taste, just left him hungry for so much more.

He was crazy in love with her, and she had no idea.

* * *

_Tortall, Duke Roger's Chambers:_

"I still don't understand—why aren't we crashing the party?" Alex asked, furrowing his brow in confusion as he poured himself another drink. "We should crush them, the filthy vermin" he added in a murmur, sipping his whiskey with a sour frown.

"Because, my faithful former squire," Duke Roger intoned smoothly, bridging his lanky fingers before his nose calmly, "there's no need to cause an uproar. We know what they're planning on doing with the money—bribing the guards. So all we have to do is make sure that doesn't happen."

"That's the part that worries me," Alex coughed out, choking on his liquor, "how can we stop the guards from taking the cash? Sure, you've threatened to behead anyone caught so much as _thinking_ about betraying us, but still. We can never be sure…the only way to foolproof that door is to guard it myself!"

Roger raised an eyebrow that seemed to say, _precisely_.

"What?" Alex blinked in confusion. "Why are you looking at me like that…oh no—I can't guard that door 24/7! I have my knight duties to fulfill, and, and…"

"I'm the resident King, remember? Or close enough anyway. I officially relieve you of all your other knightly duties," Roger smiled, though the mirth didn't shine in his eyes.

"What about _sleep_?" Alex coughed out, looking apprehensive. Every now and then, he regretted his decision to throw in his lot with the Duke. Maybe it would have been better to stay loyal to the rightful crown…

"Don't worry," Roger said disinterestedly, "I'll spell you to stay awake. It's only temporary, they're bound to try it any day now…possibly even tonight."

"But won't it be a little odd for them to find me outside the door? Won't it give away my cover?" Alex asked, wincing at the thought.

"If we arrest them on the spot for treachery against the crown, what does it matter what they know?" Roger retaliated, growing slightly annoyed. Alex asked so many damn questions. Couldn't he just accept his orders blindly like a good squire?

"I don't think it's wise to arrest Myles _and_ Raoul _and _still have Gary locked up, the Court would probably riot!" Alex shot out, a slight edge to his voice.

Roger narrowed his cold steely eyes, "you're worried about the Court rioting, or you're worried about tarnishing your own reputation? Is that it? You don't think I'll be crowned King any day now? You don't think I'll make it, and you want the comfort and security of your old friends in case my plan doesn't work out? So you can run to them, and deny you ever helped me? Or perhaps you plan to betray me yourself, is that it?"

"N-N-No my liege, n-never!" Alex gasped, trembling on the spot. Normally he was known for his iron nerves and calm disposition, but Duke Roger was the one person he actually feared. Loved and worshiped yes, but also feared deeply.

Suddenly Roger softened, opening up his arms to pat a trembling Alex on the shoulder in a gesture of comfort. He was just in a bad mood from his earlier fight with Delia, but there was no need to take it out on the one man in the world he could actually trust. Besides, maybe the boy had a point. Maybe the time wasn't quite right to make his arrests and sweep away the old opposition quite yet. He didn't want a civil war to leave Tortall ruined and desolate.

"Ah very well Alex, perhaps you're right after all." Roger conceded, "Why don't you just steal the money tonight? Then we won't have to worry about any traitorous guards."

Alex looked decidedly relieved. "As you wish, my lord," he murmured, bowing as he made his hasty exist, before the Duke changed his mind. This was a task of stealth, something he was much more accustomed to handling.

* * *

_Tortall, a large party tent in a meadow right outside the capital city:_

The party, Raoul was pleased to say, was a smashing success. Common folk lined every inch of space on the crowded dance floor under the big white tent, twirling away to the melodious tunes of the master fiddler and his musician chums. Everyone in R.E.B.E.L. had really done a great job putting things together; the theme was Ancient Times, aka: a Toga Party, and the guests loved it.

Cookie and Minnie had made exotic ambrosia fruit salads, racks of tender broiled lamb and spiced rice pilaf, sparkling apple cider and sweet rich wine. Lady Ameetha had covered the large white tent in a plethora of decorations, from grapevines to elaborate punch bowls, bronze masks and classical wall scrolls. Stephan and the pages had spread the word to every corner of the city, as had George through his extensive thief network. The line to get in the door stretched around the corner and then some.

But even more importantly, Raoul's money box was positively brimming with coins. Granted, they weren't gold nobles in the till, just some bronze coppers, but there were enough of them to fill a small bathtub. He was grinning ear to ear with happiness…now they'd have enough money to bribe the guards and free their friend!

Raoul saw Stephan approaching to take over bouncer duties manning the door, and saluted him merrily, hopping off his stool and venturing off into the crowd. He waved to Jerome and some of his friends, who were busy snickering and elbowing each other in the ribs while peering down Minnie's rather low-cut shirt while she was busy scooping a tray of cookies onto the dessert platter.

_That girl better be careful_…_those boys are total dogs_, he thought to himself, shaking his head. It seemed like just yesterday he and Gary and Jon and Francis and Alexis were pages themselves, attending their first big party and blushing furiously at the skin-tight bodices of the gorgeous court ladies. Where had the time gone? Now Gary was imprisoned, Jon was MIA, Francis was dead, and Alex was acting rather weirdly lately, kind of cold and distant…and speaking of his knight friend, where _was_ he? Raoul hadn't seen him all evening…

"OUCH!" Raoul heard Jerome cry; whipping his head around, he caught the sight of the page on the floor clutching his left shin agonizingly. The sight completely distracted him from Sir Alex, or the lack therefore.

"THAT'S what you get for trying to look up my skirt!" Minnie quipped, tossing her hair confidently and stepping over him lightly to go talk to Cookie. "Humph."

Raoul laughed aloud, shaking his head at the brazen antics of the youths. Oh to be young again…!

He was on a quest to find Sir Myles to make sure the older knight was still somewhat sober, when suddenly Stephan came rushing towards him, a look of panic paining his face.

"S-S-Sir--" the hostler choked out, looking white as salt.

"What is it Stephan?" Raoul blinked, smiling at Lady Ameetha as she floated on by. She was actually quite pretty…too bad her head was filled with nothing but fluff and air. Besides, she had her heart set on dear old Sir Gary.

"S-someone t-tried t's-steal th' m-money box!" Stephan gasped on every word, looking decidedly upset.

"WHAT?" Raoul roared, sending a nearby troop of guests jumping in their skins like startled pigeons. They twittered off, mumbling suspiciously under their breath. "Where is it? Is it—Mithros—is it _gone_?" He added, lowering his voice and trying to remain calm. But the knuckles of his fist were dead-white in rage, giving away his obvious anger.

"It's safe, I gave it t' George t' watch over, no one in this room can protect it like he can," Stephan quickly noted, as Raoul sighed in relief, "I jus' turned 'round fer two seconds t' tell Jerome t' stop harassin' th' girls, an' when I looked back again th' spot where th' money box sits was empty. I _almost_ missed it, but then I saw a pair o' two black-gloved hands out o' th' corner o' my eye, an' pounced quicker 'n a mating horse. Ol' Lightfingers could'na done better 'imself if he tried," he added, blushing with the act of praising himself.

"Where's the thief then if you stopped him?" Raoul asked the hostler, peering anxiously over his shoulder.

"Got away, 'm afraid," Stephan mumbled, glancing down at his shuffling feet. "I did'na wanna cause a scene, so I didn't shout or nuttin.' I just grabbed th' box back an' th' thief bolted quicker 'n I could catch. I did'na get a good look at his face, it was covered in a black mask. Sorry sir, I shoulda caught him I know, I was just so sur'prised…"

"It's fine Stephan, you did great," Raoul smiled comfortingly, "Mirthros, if you hadn't acted so quickly we'd really be in hot water! It's just odd that someone would try to steal the money with George here…surely the thieves know it's their leader who is co-hosting the party?" He added, more to himself than the horse handler. It was a mystery all right…

"I don' think it was one o' us," Stephan intoned darkly, shaking his head, "no rogue would _dare_…not wit' George 'ere."

"That's what I thought," Raoul murmured, "but I'll still ask George about it later. In the meanwhile, let's just try and get though the rest of this evening without further mishap all right? Why don't you take a break, I believe it's Myles turn to man the door now anyway."

"Aye," Stephan nodded, still looking glum. "I'll go separate th' pages from th' ladies…last I checked Jerome was tryin' to squeeze—er, never mind, I won't do inter details."

As the hostler bustled off, Raoul stood staring at the spot where he had just stood. It had been a close call tonight. If the money box had been stolen all their hard work would have been for naught, and all would be lost! They'd never get Gary out, and Duke Roger would be free to continue his master plan to rule Tortall! Thank Mirthros Stephan was so quick on his feet…but still, the fact that there was a thief in their midst was _very_ worrisome…further investigation would definitely be required.

"And now ladies 'n gents, th' man o' th' hour, Sir Raoul himself!" The knight looked up to see George standing on the band platform, waving him over. Raoul shot him a weird look—what was the thief doing? Almost as if through telepathy, Raoul suddenly realized; Stephan had been discrete, but they still didn't want a rumor spreading that there was trouble a foot…best to distract the guests with a little speech. And obviously, Raoul was the man for the job, being the most prestigious person at the party.

The crowd clapped enthusiastically as Raoul approached the stage, glancing meaningfully at George, who saluted him and trounced off the platform, the money box tucked tightly under the crook of him arm. He had a purposeful look on his face, and Raoul was grateful for the thousandth time that the Rogue was on his side.

"Ahem," Raoul began, "I'd like to welcome you to this event this evening, thank you all for coming…"

**...Saphron...**

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	50. Chapter 50 Aram's Letter

**Homeward Bound: AN Alternate Version of In the Hand of the Goddess**

_A/N_: Hello, darlings. Yes, I know, it's been ages…sorry, is really all I can say. Do you remember where we left off? Jon and Alanna are hiding together in the mountains because they are wanted throughout Carthak for the murder of Lord Oppenheimer and their information on how to work the extremely powerful Mage's Ball. Saraiya, Lady Chief of the Brotherhood of the Arabian Knights, accompanied by her faithful thief Rascal, are riding back to the capital city, and the members of REBEL have just thrown a wildly successful party and raised enough money to bribe the guards outside Gary's door. There. I won't keep you one minute longer, read on, read on…

_PS_: You don't have to review 100 times Starlit, lol, but honestly, I truly am inspired to write again by the fact that there is still one or two loyal fans out there…thank you. :)

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**Chapter 50 – Aram's Letter  
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_The Divine Realm:_

The Goddess frowned as she gazed unhappily in her silver water basin. She trailed a long slender perfectly formed finger in the shining liquid, sighing at the scene she saw before her. It was her lucky basin that allowed her to see into the mortal realm wherever and whenever she wished. Right now she had her eye trained on one Alanna of Tortall, squire in training and talented mage, currently located in the Southern Empire of Carthak. The Goddess had known from the mortal's birth that there were great things in store for such a fiery young girl; her divine sense had told her so, as had her fortune telling goddess friends. But today her Chosen One was not fairing well.

That fool mortal Rascal had used his bloody gift to try and cure her of a nonexistent injury, and addled her brains in the process, causing Alanna of Tortall to lose her memory of everything that happened to her, everything she had accomplished, everyone she had met, before the fateful accident. This did not please the Goddess, this did not please her one bit.

"Why don't you just fix her then?" Drawled a smooth-toned voice that rang like iron metal and singing fire. It was the God Damius, lounging in his favorite position on a plush velvet chaise. He was plucking grapes from a bunch and popping them lazily into his mouth, clearly far more relaxed than his female friend. "She's just a mortal…how hard could it be to restore her memory?"

The Goddess scowled slightly, a rare expression for such a divine figure. "I can't just swoop down there enter her mind again…you know the rules Damius about interfering with mortals lives."

"What other choice do you have?" The god countered, sucking on another juicy grape, "do you want her wandering around Carthak eating nuts and berries for the rest of her life? What about the mage in Tortall taking over the throne? That wasn't in the original plan….who will stop him now? Who will bring down the Dominion Jewel?"

The Goddess closed her eyes, masking the pained expression that threatened to steal across her perfect ivory features. "You're right of course, I know…" she murmured, "but the rules…perhaps though, there is away around those pesky little laws. Perhaps I could set the mechanism for her recovery in place, and leave the actual job up to that mortal friend of hers…"

"The Prince? The one who--"

"Yes. He could do it, I know it. There's only one mortal force strong enough to overcome such obstacles."

"You mean…?"

"Yes…it's there, it's as obvious as a lone cloud in the blue sky on a cloudless day. But I might have to…inspire things in the right direction. I think it's time I took another trip to the mortal realms."

* * *

_Tortall:_

Alex glared as he abruptly unmasked himself outside the party tent and then ducked back inside to the warm buzz of happy guests, all of whom were thankfully none the wiser about his failed espionage attempt. Curse the horse handler for his quick hands! He had almost gotten away with nicking the moneybox, but no, completely thwarted. And now—even worse—it was in the hands of the King of Thieves! Alex was good, but he wasn't _that_ good. He'd never be able to accomplish his goal tonight, now that R.E.B.E.L. leaders were on the lookout for another attempted burglary.

He swiped at the alcohol-laden tray that passed beneath his nose, frowning miserably. He'd have to notify Roger straight away that he had failed. Mithros, the Duke would be angry. Alex knew he'd most likely be assigned to guard duty tonight, which wasn't so terrible in and of itself (after all, all he had to do was sit outside Gary's door with a good book for a few hours.) Alex was more concerned over what would happen when REBEL leaders came to break out their friend and found Alex waiting for them. Duke Roger's uncanny perceptiveness had been right on the mark—Alex _wasn't_ ready to give away his position as a double-agent just yet. Roger was close to inheriting the throne, true, but there was no sense making enemies unnecessarily—and Raoul, Myles, Sir Gareth—all were mighty _powerful_ enemies. Could Alex even best them in a dual? One on one, without a doubt (though his former sword fighting teacher might prove particularly tricky), but if they _all_ attacked him at once? Surely even Roger wouldn't be willing to risk his life just to make sure Gary didn't escape! Or…would he?

Alex knew Roger respected him far more than anyone in the court. There was even a kind of paternal, mentor-disciple-like bond between them. But lately, Alex had begun to feel a bit uneasy about his former knightmaster. Roger had long since swayed him to his side with promises of wealth, glory, and power, once he inherited the throne, and Alex had quickly acquiesced—under Roald, he had just been a lowly knight, largely ignored by the court. But lately, Roger's unfailing ruthlessness had been starting to make him a little…nervous. Perhaps it had been a mistake after all, to side with Roger…?

_Don't think like that_, Alex chided himself mentally. _For better or for worse, my fate is connected with Roger's. Second thoughts won't help now…I have to go notify him that the plan failed_.

* * *

_Carthak, the Capital City:_

Saraiya sighed as she leaped lightly off her horses' saddle, Rascal following suit. She had bittersweet feelings about returning to her home in the capital. On one hand, it felt wonderful to be away from her dysfunctional family—though she was thankful, of course, that the soldiers hadn't suspected they'd been harboring the most wanted fugitive in the land mere moments before—but on the other, she couldn't help worrying about Jon and Alanna alone in the mountains. The plan to send them away had seemed like the most logical thing to do at the time; wanted signs littered the city on every sign-post and in every shop window, and soldiers were scouring the country looking for them. But could they survive on their own in the wilderness? They were knights, or knights-in-training, yes, but that didn't mean they were experienced woodsmen (or woodswomen, in Alanna's case.) Especially with Alanna's memory damaged…what if something happened to them in the mountains?

"Hey…Sary, y'ok?" Rascal asked tenderly, noticing the sigh in her eyes.

"Aye," she nodded, pulling the reins over her horse's head. "I'm ok—now that we're home. C'mon, let's go reassure the men that we 'aven't dropped off th' face o' th' Earth. I don' like leavin' 'em fer too long, they tend t' get restless, an' the last thing I need now is some upitty young thing questin' my authority."

"No one would do that!" Rascal cried, "yer th' Chief!"

"Ach, fer now," Saraiya split, getting the lingering trace of dust out of her mouth, "but y'never know, th' position is only temporary. I suspect they might not be too pleased 'bout them soldiers burstin' in and demandin' to know where my fugitive friends are. Mayhap they reckon I weren't bein' a very good leader when I endangered 'em like that…"

"Don't be silly Sary, the men all love you!" Rascal replied, shaking his head. "No one will dare say a word. You'll see."

"Aye," Saraiya whispered. "So I hope.

* * *

_Carthak University:_

Aram Draper frowned as he stoked the fire in his room, contemplating the piece of parchment in his hand. Midwinter had passed but the January rains kept coming, and he didn't envy anyone who had to sleep out in the cold these grim winter nights. Yes, his university dorm room was chilly—but at least it was dry.

More worrisome to him at the moment than the poor weather, however, was the tiny scrap of paper in his hand; a scrap that contained a rather striking likeness of his fiery young friend and her sapphire-eyed companion. It was funny, really, it's not like Aram was bosom-buddies with the pair—what did he care if they were wanted throughout the land for high crimes against the state?

And yet somehow, in his brief encounters with the purple-eyed, fire-ball stopping, tree-climbing young lass, a kind of friendship had developed that kept him awake in the night long after the midnight bell had tolled. Oh, he wasn't attracted to her, not in that way, exactly (for the thought had crssed his mind that perhaps he had a bit of a crush on her?). But he certainly found her…intriguing. She was unlike anyone he had ever met, after all. Carthaki nobles and mages were reserved, some would even say cold. Hey cared about power, wealth, and the Emperor's favors—court games, essentially. Although he had been a jovial youth and had a certain charm with those he encountered, in all truth he didn't find that many people in the University who he desired to talk to or charm, period.

Except Orzone.

A friendly rivalry had quickly flourished between Orzone and Aram from the very out-start of their academic training. It was bright at Polaris that they were each at the top of the class—the only question was who was the very tip of the top. Of course, Orzone was distantly related to the Emperor and thus carried a certain noble prestige to him that poor Aram of the lower classes could never hope to best. But in magic they were equals, wholly dedicated to their craft and determined to beat another at every exam.

Consequently, a sort of mutual enmity had developed between them tat almost—almost—resembled a friendship. But besides Orzone, there weren't too many people Aram considered more than simple peers or acquaintances. On his travels he had befriended many locals, and even managed to remain pen-pals with one or two. But a letter just wasn't the same as face to face interaction.

And then Alanna had come along, and for some reason she caught his eye. True, he wouldn't call them friends—they barely knew each other, after all—but he got the sense from her that she was exactly what he'd want in a friend. Spunky. Intelligent. Entertaining. Loyal. All attributes of someone who was missing in his life. Someone like a friend.

Aram mused in a lonely stupor over such matters, trying not to feel too depressed. Suddenly, as if the gods had been watching him pace his chambers all along, a timid knock sounded at his door, as a palace livery messenger asked permission to enter.

Aram beckoned the man inside., murmuring his thanks for the letter he deposited. He glanced quickly at the name scrawled in the leftmost corner—Rispah! Finally, he had received her reply to the letter he had sent her ages ago asking about the Prince of Tortall's welfare, and whether there was the slightest chance he could be in Carthak. The winter snows must have slowed the mail…but not matter, he had his letter now.

Aram's eyes scanned the contents page like a jackrabbit jumping from one burrow hole to the next, until finally he let out a yelp of surprise! According to Rispah, the Prince, Prince _Jonathan_—and his red-headed squire—were indeed missing in action and had been for several months! The entire country was in turmoil; after the King's tragic suicide, rumors abounded that there was foul play afoot with the acting monarch, Duke Roger of Conte (whom Aram knew to be an extremely powerful Mage), the Queen was in failing health, and Jonathan's cousin Gary was confined to his rooms for being criminally insane. Any word of the missing Prince sent hope to her people, Rispah wrote, especially to her cousin George, who was close friends with him and his squire.

Within moments the clues clicked in Aram's brain like a key turning a deadbolt lock; Jon and Alanna's appearance in Carthak around the same time as Tortall's war with Tusaine, their physical descriptions matching exactly what Rispah had described (minus the fact that Alanna, or Alan, was actually a girl), and Jon's claim to royalty…it all seemed too fateful to be coincidence. Jonathan of Conte, Lord Penikth's former slave and the Emperor's current most wanted fugitive, was indeed the Crown Prince of the most powerful country in the Northern Lands--and he was here, in Carthak!

Aram's hand scarcely left the page he was writing on, so desperate he was so pen a speedy reply. Hurriedly he shoved the two wanted posters of Jon and Alanna in the envelope, and pressed it to his lips to seal it. Running out the door on legs renowned for to be as long as bamboo stalks; he quickly caught up with the palace messenger, and shoved the letter in his hand. With any luck, it'd be on the first boat out to Tortall in the morning—and soon the whole country would know there Prince was still alive.

* * *

…**Saphron….**


	51. Chapter 51 Unpleasant Tasks

**Homeward Bound: An Alternate Version of In the Hands of the Goddess**

**By Saphron**

_A/N_: Ye loyal reviewers still out there who are left…thanks for the reviews. T'is much encouraging, aye.

* * *

**Chapter 51 – Unpleasant Tasks**

_Carthak_

Jon sighed as he scooped on the first dry log he had found all day. Alanna had sent him on firewood collection duty, clearly as punishment for some minor offence he hadn't even committed (he believed the words "my eyes are about six inches higher" were used), and he was having a difficult time finding dry wood after the unceasing downpour from the night before. At this rate, they'd probably kill each other first before the elements ever did.

Jon stood back up, tucking the log in the subtle crook made by his wrist lent casually against his hip, and squinted into the distance. He could have sworn a light had just shone between two trees about ten feet away before it winked out again. He used the slightly smudged palm of his other hand to rub his eyes, muttering under his breath about the hallucinogenic effects of sleep-deprivation. But there! There was that strange light again! Jon blinked rapidly in succession, trying to shield his eyesight, but soon changed his tune and stood staring wide-eyed at the vision that appeared before him. And what a vision to see!

With thick, long, new moon night black hair that seemed to trail like a sinuous rivers for miles behind her, and a flowing gauzy gown that appeared to made of mere dust motes or beaded light drops instead of cloth, the Goddess hovered before him, a stern yet serene smile painted sweetly on her face. She radiated an ethereal energy that had no name in for the forces described by bridge-builders or palace textbooks; existing both ephemerally temporal and absolute in her undeniably feminine beauty.

A gulp escaped his throat as Jon's unconscious bodily reactions kicked in and reminded him to breath. He wasn't sure if he was feeling lightheaded from the sheer presence of divinity or from an unfortunately insubstantial breakfast, but regardless, oxygen deprivation was the last thing he needed now.

"Prince Jonathan of Conte," the Goddess intoned, her voice great and terrible and yet beautiful in its magnanimity. It reminded Jon of Cathedral bells tolling dramatically or a pack of wild hounds howling on the hunt, layered with nuance after nuance of tonal inflection and primal energy.

"Goddess," he whispered back, surprised his voice worked at all.

"You know why I have come." It was a statement, not a question.

"Y…no, actually," Jon replied honestly. Somehow though, he suspected she didn't exactly fancy a chat about firewood collection tactics. Was he even awake right now? Was this simply some absurd dream?

"Alanna is very special to me," the Goddess answered back, "and she is in trouble. You must help her regain her memory. She is destined for great things…things that can not be done if you do not help her now."

"Of course, I'd do anything to help," Jon murmured passionately, disconcerted that the Goddess had even thought he needed to be convinced. "She's my squire! I want her well again."

"Good. Do you love her?" The Goddess wasn't one to waste words.

"WHAT?" Jon practically choked out, at a loss for words. This wasn't just beating the bush, it was digging it out with your bare hands and whacking it repeatedly with a shovel! Talk about straight to the point. "I mean, what does that have to do with her memory…" He tried again, realizing his tone might not be exactly be deemed 'polite' enough.

"Everything," the Goddess said simply. "You must love her to do what I am going to ask you to do. When the mortal Rascal attempted to heal her, he created a wall in her mind with his magic that surrounds the essence of her true identity. She hasn't lost her memory, exactly…it's more that she can't reach the part of herself that defines who she is. She needs you to go into her mind and break down that wall, Prince Jonathan."

Jon grimaced, biting his lower lip. Break down a magical wall her in mind, sure, no problem. Ha! Easer said that done! Luckily, he had enough presence of mind to think this thought rather then saying it aloud.

But as if the Goddess read his mind (and briefly, Jon wondered if she could), she said, "yes. It will not be easy, unfortunately. She doesn't trust you in this state, and without trust, she will never let you get close enough to enter her mind."

"Then…how?" Jon muttered, at a lost. The situation seemed rather hopeless.

The Goddess sighed, the first sign of distress or worry Jon had seen in her in all this time, "you must do it when she is asleep. And you must make her sleep first, despite her protests."

"What??" Jon barked out, "just…knock her out, and then enter her mind, all against her will? Isn't that a bit—" Suddenly he cut himself off, biting back the words he wanted to say. Words like _deceptive_. And _sneaky_. And _but she'll kill me if she finds out._

"Yes," the Goddess said, the faintest darkness tingeing her voice. "There is no other way. You must love her, to do this."

"But…why?" Jon asked, puzzled. What did love have to do with restoring Alanna's true self? Weren't his magical abilities as a mage far more critical in this situation?

"Because, you will encounter…resistance."

"Resistance?"

"Yes. Her mind will reject you. It will see you as an invader. She will unknowingly attack you while she is under."

"So…I must love her because I most be willing to, to endure the pain—pain? Is that it?—of her defensive attack?"

"Yes…but it is not the kind of pain you are thinking of. Her resistance will not be painful for you—it will be painful for her. In her sleep she will writhe and cry out. She will experience the mental anguish of the wall in her mind being torn down brick by brick, and her body will feel as if an enemy were carving up her flesh bit by bit until she's nothing but bones. You will see all this happening, and feel terrible, absolutely terrible—guilty, I'd venture to say."

"But that's…" Jon couldn't complete the sentence—he was too horrorstruck. Hurt Alanna? Could he ever imagine doing such a thing? To say the task was rather unpleasant was like saying the ocean was just a little bit wet.

"And yet, you must. You must do this thing to save her, Prince Jonathan. Despite her cries of pain you must not stop until every bit of the wall is gone. She will not actually be physically injured in this process…it will just appear that way to you, and feel that way to her. You must be willing to ignore her anguish to do this, and you must love her—absolutely, purely, love her—to be able to go against everything you were indoctrinated with from the Code of Chivalry, and hurt her to heal her. Can you do this, Prince Jonathan? Do you love her enough?"

"I…do. I can. I just—why can't…?"

"Why can't I simply fix her myself?" The Goddess asked slyly, once again demonstrating her uncanny knack for knowing what Jon was thinking before he even said it. "Because. Even gods are subject to certain rules. I can not enter a mortal's mind, Prince Jonathan. If gods wielded such power, they could control dukes and kings, sway mortals to their every whim, and allow their petty interests to control and subjugate the mortal realm. No, this is not a task for divinity—this is a task for man. Thus, I ask you again, will you do it?"

"Yes," Jon said simply. Was there really any other acceptable answer?

"Very well. There is no time to lose. Tonight."

And then she was gone. Simply gone, and Prince Jonathan of Tortall was all alone with the terrible task ahead of him.

* * *

_Tortall:_

"I _really_ don't think this is such a good idea, Jerome…" Justin said worriedly, biting his lower lip in clear sign of distress.

"Don't be such a prat, of course it's a good idea," his friend shot back. "Er—do we take a right at the rusty, hole-riddled statue of King Roald I holding a spiked club, or left?"

"Left, I believe," Taylor answered, taking the lead. "You know, the Queen should really consider redecorating this place. I mean, look at that statue…that rust is just plain distasteful. And those holes are the size of a watermelon!"

"Mithros! Don't you think we have bigger things to worry about then a little bit of rust and a few measly holes?" Justin said a tad too frantically, looking quite like a ripe orange kumquat on the edge of bursting.

"Nah. Raoul said the guards would definitely be bribable—and we have the bribe right here," Jerome grinned.

Justin groaned audibly, his anxiety clearly not quenched, "why?! Why couldn't we just let the adults handle the guards after the party? Why did we have to convince Stephan to let us take over money collection duty and come traipsing up here to free Gary ourselves? WHY?"

"Because," Taylor said simply, "every now and then it's fun to play the hero. Ah-ha! I know we're close to Gary's room, there's that dreadful painting of Princess Bovina III…good grief, that mole on her face is hideous, someone should _really_ consider sprucing up this corridor, if you ask me."

"No one's asking," Jerome said, sticking his tongue out at his interior decorator friend. "Look! There's only one guard posted! I see him by the door. Let's go."

Poor Justin didn't even get a chance to let out one final moan of distress before the trio stepped into the moonlight pooled at the lone guard's feet. Outside, the sky was piercingly clear, leaving the nearby window's aperture to clearly divide the soft reflected light from the dim unwanted shadows in the castle corridor.

"Ah, and the noble heroes of REBEL arrive. I've been expecting you," a soft voice called out from the dark, quiet derision tinged on every syllable.

"Er, right," Jerome said, glad the guard had caught on so quickly as to why they were there, "we have the gold you requested in exchange for our friend's freedom—count it, it's all here."

"Oh, there will be no need for that, I'm sure it's all there. But—children? Where are the others?" The voice quipped back, still hanging back in the shadows.

"We're not children," Taylor said indigently, puffing out his chest. "We're pages of the realm!"

Suddenly, the voice chuckled, then laughed, then practically screeched in mirth. "_Pages_? Do you mean to say mighty Sir Raoul and the oh so formidable court drunkard sent _pages_ on such an important mission? Mithros! To think I was sitting here dreading the thought of a duel with several full grown knights, and instead—children!"

"We're NOT children!" both Jerome and Taylor chorused at the same time.

But Justin had picked up on a far more important word—"Duel?"

"Well, if you insist…" Sir Alex replied, stepping out of the shadows while simultaneously drawing his sword.

"A-Alex?" Taylor asked, wide-eyed. "What are you doing here? Did you already talk to the guards? And, er, why do you have your sword out mate?"

The traitorous knight shot him a toothy grin. "Come now, don't be thick. You're _'pages of the ream_,_'_ surely you've realized for now that I have never answered to that sad, pathetic, trusting, old drunken court fool you so revere…"

Justin gulped. And, not willing to waste another moment arguing, hollered, "Oh crap—RUN!" before turning on his heel to do just that.

The other two pages didn't need to be told twice. With a speed that could only be brought about by the pure and penetrating fear of being stabbed by a very, very sharp metal stick, the trio pages bolted down the corridor, past the ugly painting of Princess Bovine III, and around the corner where rusty Kind Roald I perched with his spiked club. Along the way, Jerome had the good sense to think fast—he couldn't run as quickly holding a heavy box of gold, and the hole-riddled statue of Roald I seemed like as good a spot as any to ditch the thing so he could run faster. Fortunately, in the dark, no one even saw him chuck the box into the side of Roald's broken chest-plate, but unfortunately, the two seconds it cost him to abandon the box were precisely the two seconds Alex needed to extend his sword arm far enough to slice the tender veins in the back of his neck wide open.

For a moment, Taylor and Justin didn't even register what had happened to their friend. The momentum of Jerome's run carried him forward a few more steps, as if were gliding on some invisible cloud beneath HIM, before he suddenly sank, dropping to the earth with a bone-chilling thump, no sound escaping his lips but the nearly silent puff of air from the impact of the ground knocking the last breath of wind out of his lungs. And with that tiny puff, the last wick of his life was breathlessly extinguished.

"Jerry—NO…" Taylor gasped, turning around to grab his friend's tunic and drag him to his feet again. But a hand stopped him, pulled him backwards, tugged with all its might to keep him back—Justin's hand. There was a reason Justin always managed to beat his friends in a long night's game of chess, and it wasn't just because he actually had the patience to sit through the whole thing. No, Justin was a tactician, a strategist, a boy with few skills in arms to boast about but all the cold military man's logic in the world. With the reflexes of a general in battle, Justin assessed the situation—blood was everywhere, Jerome was likely dead, and even if he wasn't dead he obviously couldn't walk, and there was no way the two remaining pages could carry him and escape safely, so there was no point in turning back—they had to keep running.

"Keep running," Justin ordered Taylor for the first time in the history of their friendship, while continually pulling him forwards and away from Alex, who was nonchalantly wiping his bloody sword on the fallen boy's tunic, soiling it, clearly confident he'd be able to handle the other two pages with just as much easy and minimalist effort.

"We can't leave him!" Taylor hissed back, twisting to escape Justin's grip.

"Yes," Justin gritted his teeth, "we can, and we must. Now _go_."

For a moment Taylor looked like he was about to refuse, but one final literal push from Justin kept him running in the right direction. But within moments, the steady footfalls of Alex caught up to them (for as a full grown knight, he did, after all, have quite longer legs than the two teenage pages).

"Split up," Justin grunted, shoving Taylor's shoulder to aim him to run right while he took the turn up-head left. If he could remember correctly, Taylor was on his way to the kitchens, and Justin's path led to the stables. Now if only they could reach the safety of people in this abandoned castle in time! Or rather, he supposed, only one of them would have to reach safety in time…as presumably, Sir Alex could not defy the laws of physics to be able to be in two places at once, which was why Justin had insisted on splitting up in the first place. _Divide and conquer_, he thought grimly to himself, not caring about his raggad breath or the aching in his calf muscles, _though all we're trying to do is conquer time to save our own lives…  
_

* * *

**Saphron**


End file.
